TALES  ,^^- 

KANKAKEE 
LAND 


CliAELES  -  IL  BARTL]&TT 


".tl 


TALES    OF 
KANKAKEE    LAND 


The  Indian  drew  his  hunting-knile. 


ITALES   OF 
KANKAKEE   LAND 


BY 


CHARLES    H.    BARTLETT 


ILLUSTRATED   BY    WILL  VAWTER 


CHARLES    SCRIBNER'S    SONS 
NEW   YORK::::::::::::::::::::  1904 


>- 


Copyright,  1904,  by 
CHARLES  SCRIBNER'S  SONS 

Published,  March,  1904 


TROW  DIRECTORY 

»RlNTINa  AND   BOOKBINDINO  COMPAUT 

HtW  YORK 


CONTENTS 

PACE 

I.    Kankakee  Land i 

II.    Hickory-Nuts  and  Potash 14 

III.  Eagle  Point 22 

IV.  The  Flaming  Sea 35 

V.    Wild  Honey 71 

VI.    Pe-ash-a-way  the  Miami 83 

VII.    The  Pitiful  Quest 98 

VIII.    Legends  of  Lost  Lake 112 

IX.    Along  the  Sau-wau-see-be 141 

X.  The  First  Citizen  of  the  Parkovash  .     .194 

XL    The  Rescue 211 

XII.  The  Story  of  the  First  Wagon.     .     .     .223 


ILLUSTRATIONS 

From  Drawings  by  Will  Vawter 
The  Indian  drew  his  hunting-knife    ....  Frontispiece 

FACING 
FACE 

He  was  alive,  but  expired  in  their  arms    .     .     .     .     12 

' '  At    that   moment   a   dead    bird    fell    through   the 

branches" 50 

Sitting  in  the  bright  moonlight  on  one  of  the  high 

bluffs  of  the  river io6 

Stood  with  uplifted  spears 158 

Pokagon's  famous  wagon 224 


Map — Kankakee  Land  and  tlie  region  of  the  Great 

Lakes i 


a 


TALES    OF    KANKAKEE    LAND 


KANKAKEE    LAND 

More  than  a  million  acres  of  swaying  reeds, 
fluttering  flags,  clumps  of  wild  rice,  thick-crowding 
lily-pads,  soft  beds  of  cool  green  mosses,  shim- 
mering ponds  and  black  mire  and  trembling  bogs 
— such  is  Kanl^kcc  Land.  These  wonderful 
fens,  or  marshes,  together  with  their  wide-reach- 
ing lateral  extensions,  spread  themselves  over  an 
area  far  greater  than  that  of  the  Dismal  Swamp 
of  Virginia  and  North  Carolina.  Their  vastness, 
their  silence,  their  misty  haze,  and  their  miry 
depths  make  them  the  very  realm  of  forgetfulness 
and  oblivion.  In  the  remote  glacial  times,  how- 
ever, all  this  spacious  plain  was  the  scene  of  the 
mightiest  activities,  for  it  was  swept  by  deep  swirl- 
ing currents  and  torn  and  scarred  by  moving 
mountains  of  ice  and  rock.  But  within  the  his- 
toric period  the  river  has  been  a  mere  thread  of 
silver  meandering  through  the  sloughs,  the  lily- 


2  Tales  of  Kanhakce  Land 

beds,  and  the  rice;  now  trending  over  to  the  ancient 
bank  on  the  right,  and  now  wandering  far  off  to 
the  left;  here  creeping  around  and  between  the 
members  of  a  group  of  islands,  and  then  quite 
losing  itself  in  ten  thousand  acres  of  rushes  and 
reeds. 

It  was  a  fair  vision,  indeed,  that  unfolded 
itself  before  the  French  explorer  whose  eye  first 
of  all  surveyed  this  strange  and  marvellous  land. 
What  were  his  emotions  when  he  stood  among  the 
tender  grasses  of  the  old  pasture-slopes  along  the 
margin  of  these  marshes  and  saw  the  tumultuous 
herds  of  buffalo — the  "huge  wild  oxen,"  as  he 
called  them  ?  Was  he  not  breathless  with  amaze- 
ment when  he  beheld  the  long  lines  of  antlered 
elk  venturing  forth  in  the  moonlight  and  stalking 
through  the  woodland  paths  ?  What  did  he  think 
of  the  herd  of  deer  that,  mute  and  motionless,  gazed 
down  from  the  hill-top,  or  the  does  with  their 
fawns  working  their  way  through  the  thickets  that 
bordered  the  numerous  tributaries  of  the  Kan- 
kakee ?  Where  would  he  go  to  find  such  a  scene 
as  that  of  the  countless  millions  of  water-fowl — 
ducks  and  brant  and  geese  and  swans — settling 
over  the  vast  fields  of  wild  rice?  What  did  he 
say  to  himself  when  he  saw  the  beaver  towns  that 


Kankakee  Land  3 

lined  all  the  watercourses  ?  Here  it  was  no  longer 
possible  to  refrain  from  some  expression  of  won- 
der and  joy,  so  that  he  wrote  back  to  his  friends  in 
France  that  this  region  above  all  others  was  the 
"home  of  the  beaver." 

One  thinks  of  these  early  explorers,  and  knows 
something  of  their  astonishment  and  wonder, 
whenever  a  big  buck  comes  down  from  the  Michi- 
gan woods  and  seeks  to  thread  the  ancient  run- 
way, and  when  a  panther  now  and  then  follows 
in  the  same  course.  Instinctively  the  mind's  eye 
sweeps  over  the  thrilling  scenes  of  the  old  life 
when  the  hunters  declare  that  the  wolf's  hungry 
brood  is  still  at  home  in  these  wilds,  that  the  fox 
has  by  no  means  relinquished  his  ancestral  do- 
main, that  the  mink  is  still  looking  after  his 
precious  skin,  and  that  all  the  vicissitudes  of  the 
present  added  to  those  of  the  past  have  not  been 
enough  to  drive  the  otter  from  the  fine  fish  pre- 
serves of  the  Kankakee.  The  coot  and  the  grebe 
are  still  numerous  among  the  limitless  acres  of 
lily-pads;  the  bittern  stands  on  every  solitary 
shore;  and  now,  as  of  old,  the  ancient  heronry  in 
some  detached  grove  of  water-elms  is  still  crowded 
with  young  birds  in  the  nesting  season.  What 
did  the  early  French  think  of  the  blue  heron  ?  or 


4  Tales  of  Kankakee  Land 

its  cousins  and  companions,  the  snowy  egrets? 
What  ejaculations  of  delight  must  have  gone  up 
from  the  canoes  on  the  river  at  sight  of  a  flock  of 
the  great  white  birds. 

For  all  men  of  our  race  and  for  the  Indian,  as 
well,  the  islands  have  possessed  a  peculiar  charm. 
No  one  can  overlook  them.  They  are  hummocks 
of  sand  rising  boldly  out  of  this  sedgy  plain,  and 
were  cast  up  by  the  wintry  flood  ages  ago  at  the 
close  of  the  glacial  epoch.  Their  soil  is  therefore 
very  different  from  that  of  the  region  in  which 
they  are  found.  Yet,  they  are  by  no  means 
sterile  tracts,  for,  mingled  with  these  sands,  are 
lime  and  other  mineral  foods  for  plants;  and  the 
vegetation  enjoys  also  a  great  advantage  in  the 
unfailing  water  supplies  drawn  in  from  the  sur- 
rounding marsh.  Hence,  in  general,  the  islands  are 
heavily  wooded  with  oak  and  elm.  The  vine,  too, 
with  its  powerful  root  finds  these  conditions  very 
favorable.  There  is  a  large,  luscious  grape  that 
thrives  on  the  islands  and  is  said  to  be  peculiar  to 
them.  Other  grapes,  the  blue,  the  red,  and  the 
white,  have  been  abundant  on  the  contiguous 
mainland,  as  well  as  here;  but  this  large  one, 
peculiar  to  the  latter  places,  has  attracted  the  at- 
tention of  many,  and  is  supposed  by  some  people 


Kankakee  Land  5 

to  be  a  survival  from  a  cultivated  variety  brought 
from  France  by  the  earliest  white  people  who  en- 
tered the  region. 

Some  of  the  islands  seem  to  have  been  a  favor- 
ite place  of  residence.  Plum-trees  and  those  of 
the  wild  crab-apple  probably  indicate  the  wilder- 
ness homestead.  This  homestead,  however,  may 
often  have  been  that  of  primitive  man.  One 
may  observe  that  thickets  of  crab-apple,  plum, 
and  the  red  haw,  as  they  occur  on  the  mainland 
along  the  river,  almost  always,  if  not  invariably, 
indicate  the  near  presence  of  mounds  or  ancient 
village  sites;  and  one  can  with  difliculty  resist  the 
feeling  that  they  are  survivals  of  the  old-time  gar- 
dens of  the  mound-builders.  The  clumps  of 
rose-bushes  in  the  same  vicinity  are  also  pleas- 
antly suggestive. 

These  little  islands  will  not  be  forgotten  in  his- 
tory. They  were  admirably  located  as  places  of 
safe  retreat  during  times  of  peril.  For  the  level 
area  stretching  away  on  all  sides  gave  a  wide  out- 
look, affording  opportunity  for  timely  warning 
to  those  sojourning  here.  And  then,  too,  very 
many  of  them  are  difficult  of  approach,  since  the 
quaking  bogs  around  offer  no  footing  for  man  or 
beast,  nor  yet  sufficient  water  for  the  passage  of 


6  Tales  of  Kankakee   Land 

any  canoe.  To  know  the  hidden  windings  of  some 
secure  channel  among  the  reeds  and  to  keep  the 
secret  to  himself,  was  all  that  was  necessary  for 
the  refugee  who  would  make  his  home  quite  se- 
cure in  such  a  place.  The  islands,  therefore,  at 
one  period  became  an  asylum  for  a  sorely  per- 
secuted race.  What  the  Everglades  of  Florida 
were  to  the  poor  Seminoles,  these  secluded  spots 
became  to  the  remnant  of  the  Mohicans,  from 
whom  our  fathers  so  cruelly  wrested  the  regions 
of  Narragansett  Bay.  Those  who  have  inferred 
that  the  Mohicans  perished  in  New  York  and 
New  England,  may  correct  that  impression  in  the 
knowledge  of  the  fact  that  the  survivors  of  this 
notable  race  fled  far  to  the  west,  and  to  bury  them- 
selves from  the  sight  of  Englishmen,  made  their 
abode  in  these  island  fastnesses  of  the  Kankakee. 
It  is  a  comfort  to  know  that  in  the  great  Kankakee 
Land  of  Indiana,  far  from  the  sounding  tides  of 
their  native  shore,  these  unhappy  men — who  were 
in  truth  the  "last  of  the  Mohicans" — found  respite 
from  their  heavy  sorrows.  But  it  was  the  final 
act  in  the  drama,  for  here  the  camp-fires  of  their 
tribe  went  out  forever. 

Among  the  more  vivid  recollections  of  my  early 
childhood   is  that   of  a  certain  dread,   or  awe, 


Kankakee  Land  7 

aroused  at  that  time  by  the  mere  mention  of  the 
land  of  the  Kankakee.  It  was  a  place  of  mystery 
and  peril.  Our  town,  or  village,  was  located  just 
beyond  the  very  tip  and  source  of  the  eastern  arrn 
of  the  Kankakee — where  the  ancient  paths  of  the 
Pottowattomies  came  up  out  of  the  great  marsh- 
land and  passed  over  into  the  valley  of  the  St. 
Joseph.  Especially  in  the  late  fall,  when  the 
marshes  were  burning,  was  the  sense  of  alarm  ex- 
tremely acute,  for  the  smoky  atmosphere  and  the 
smell  of  fire  quickened  within  me  lively  notions  of 
danger.  Nor  was  I  alone  in  my  fears.  At  such 
times,  if  it  happened  that  a  dry  fall  had  followed 
a  season  of  very  luxuriant  vegetable  growth,  my 
elders,  too,  were  much  disturbed,  lest  a  rising 
wind  should  drive  those  flames  far  beyond  the 
lowlands — as  had  always  occurred  at  an  earlier 
period.  All  night  long  the  heavens  in  the  south- 
west glared  in  the  red  light  of  the  glowing  plain, 
where  miles  and  miles  and  miles  of  flaming  billows 
rolled. 

Sometimes  on  a  bright  summer  morning  I  went 
with  an  older  brother  and  the  neighbor  boys  to 
drive  the  cows  to  the  rich  pastures  that  skirted  the 
marshes.  As  we  approached  the  lowland,  the 
path  led  through  a  delightful  open  grove  of  tower- 


8  Tales   of  Kankakee  Land 

ing  oaks.  My  companions  were  accustomed  to 
leave  me  here  to  play,  while  they  went  on  to  see 
that  the  cattle  were  safely  stationed  beyond  a  set 
of  bars  that  stood  somewhere  far  away  on  the 
border  of  a  wet  meadow.  In  this  meadow  were 
clumps  of  alders,  and  on  certain  higher  points  of 
land  scrub  oaks  sheltered  patches  of  wintergreens. 
Quite  generally  the  boys  stopped  long  enough  to 
gather  a  hatful  of  leaves,  and  sometimes  they 
brought  back  to  me  a  few  of  the  red  berries.  I 
longed  to  see  those  beds  of  evergreen,  but  I  was 
afraid  to  go  farther  than  the  big  oak-grove. 

The  path  beyond — or  paths,  for  there  were  many 
of  them — led  under  very  high  overarching  bushes, 
forming  curious  arbors  that  curved  in  every  di- 
rection, with  black  earth  beneath  and  with  dense 
sloping  walls  and  interlacing  boughs  above — ave- 
nues that  were  cool  and  inviting  enough,  except 
for  the  heavy  damp  air  and  the  darkness  into 
which  the  footsteps  of  the  boys  wound  away  and 
disappeared.  Once,  when  I  heard  voices  and 
knew  that  my  companions  were  returning,  I  vent- 
ured a  little  way  into  this  huge  thicket  and  just 
missed  stepping  on  a  curious  creature,  the  size  of 
a  man's  hand.  It  was  of  vivid  yellow,  with  great 
black  eye-spots  on  its  outstretched  wings.     Lying 


Kankakee  hand  9 

against  the  black  earth  and  in  the  strange,  uncer- 
tain light  of  the  place,  its  wings  seemed  heavy  and 
fleshy,  but  some  of  the  boys  said  that  it  was  only 
a  great  butterfly,  or  a  "big  marsh  miller."  It 
must  have  been  one  of  the  giant  moths,  two  or 
three  species  of  which  are  common  enough  in  this 
region.  But  such  at  the  time  was  the  state  of  my 
mind,  my  thoughts  and  overwrought  feelings,  that 
the  creature  which  I  had  just  missed  stepping 
on  seemed  more  like  some  curious  flying  lizard 
that  could  bite  or  sting  or  in  some  way  wound  a 
little  boy.  Thus  even  the  insect  life  of  the  Kan- 
kakee might  be  something  prodigious. 

One  night  the  boys  came  home  late  and  in  great 
distress  of  mind.  They  had  searched  the  meadow 
far  and  near,  had  climbed  trees  and  scanned  the 
outlying  swamps  for  miles  away,  and  had  beaten 
through  every  alder  clump  and  called  and  called, 

but  could  find  no  trace  or  sign  of  neighbor  C 's 

brindle  cow  Bess.  The  animal  was  never  found. 
It  seemed  probable  that  it  had  wandered  out  into 
the  quaking  bog  and  had  stepped  incautiously 
on  to  one  of  those  treacherous  areas  where  Nature 
has  so  dexterously  roofed  over  with  living  green 
a  deep  pit  of  boiling  quicksand.  But  some  weeks 
later  a  hunter,  returning  from  far  down  the  Kan- 


10  Tales  of  Kankakee  Land 

kakee,  told  of  finding  the  carcass  of  a  cow  with  the 
flesh  stripped  off  clean  and  the  bones  gnawed  by 
wolves.  Some  thought  the  wolves  were  not  now 
numerous  enough,  and  at  this  season  of  the  year 
not  bold  enough,  to  attack  such  an  animal  as  a 
cow,  and  that  the  unfortunate  creature  on  which 
they  had  feasted  must  have  died  a  natural  death. 
But  others  shook  their  heads  in  doubt  when  they 
recalled  the  depredations  committed  in  other  days 
by  the  big  timber  wolves  that  ranged  through  the 
outskirts  of  the  valley,  and  even  to  this  hour  are 
sometimes  encountered  in  the  deep  fastnesses  of 
the  boundless  swamps.  Whatever  had  been  the 
fate  of  our  neighbor's  cow  Bess,  thereafter  I  could 
not  refrain  from  begging  my  brother  to  stay  with 
me  in  the  oak-grove;  lest,  if  he  should  go  farther, 
he,  too,  might  be  engulfed  in  the  dreadful  morass 
or  might  be  pounced  upon  by  some  fierce  animal 
lurking  in  the  dark  avenues  of  the  thicket. 

That  very  fall  the  horrors  of  those  mysterious 
watery  plains  were  greatly  augmented  for  me  by 
the  untimely  death  of  poor  Peter  Ernst.  He  was 
one  of  two  workmen  in  my  father's  bakery — a 
German  boy  full  of  affection  for  children  and 
abounding  in  quaint  and  delightful  fatherland, 
stories.     At  early  dawn  of  a  holiday  he  had  taken 


Kankakee  I^nd  11 

his  dog  and  gun  and  pushed  his  boat  far  down 
the  Kankakee.  As  we  afterward  discovered,  the 
morning  hunt  had  been  very  successful.  There 
were  many  ducks  piled  in  the  end  of  the  boat,  to- 
gether with  a  wild  goose  and  a  great  white  swan. 
But  that  night  Peter  did  not  return.  The  next 
morning  the  dog  came  back  without  him.  A 
searching  party  set  forth,  following  the  lead  of 
the  dog. 

Hurried  along  under  the  impatient  guidance  of 
the  faithful  creature,  and  marvelling  at  the  ani- 
mal's noble  intelligence,  they  came  at  length  to 
one  of  the  few  spots  where  the  marsh-land  presents 
a  sandy  beach.  There  in  the  reeds  not  far  from 
the  shore  was  Peter's  boat,  and  within  could  be 
discerned  the  outline  of  his  recumbent  form.  The 
men  waded  out  and  lifted  his  head  and  shoulders. 
He  was  alive,  but  expired  in  their  arms  without 
disclosing  the  nature  of  the  appalling  calamity 
that  had  overtaken  him.  There  were  those  who 
believed  that  he  had  been  bitten  by  some  venomous 
serpent.  Others  said  that  it  was  the  heat  that  had 
overcome  him,  and  such  must  have  been  the  truth 
of  the  matter.  On  those  days  of  early  fall,  when 
the  air  is  hushed  and  still  over  all  the  marsh-land, 
the  sun's  rays  not  only  smite  from  above  with 


12  Tales   of  Kankakee  Land 

sickening  force,  but  are  reflected  from  beneath  as 
from  burnished  brass.  Under  these  conditions  the 
exhalations  are  sometimes  heavy  and  stifling,  and 
such  as  the  human  frame  can  iU  abide.  An  arm- 
ful of  water-lilies  found  in  his  boat  were  preserved 
and  laid  on  his  casket,  and  below  them  were  spread 
out  the  snowy  pinions  of  the  white  swan.  The 
other  particulars  of  the  event  have  faded  from 
recollection,  but  thereafter  all  my  childhood 
thoughts  of  the  Kankakee  involved  in  some  man- 
ner the  memory  of  Peter  Ernst.  In  daytime 
musings  and  before  I  slept  at  night,  I  saw  his  pros- 
trate form  in  the  boat  with  the  upturned  face 
and  the  delirious  eyes,  and  the  dead  swan  at  his 
feet. 

Even  yet  there  are  hours  when  I  cannot  think  of 
this  land  of  shining  pools  and  reedy  wastes  and 
boundless  acres  of  lilies  and  rushes — with  the 
flocks  of  wild  fowl  rising  on  fluttering  wings  or 
whistling  by  or  dropping  into  favorite  haunts  with 
sweep  and  plash,  and  circling  waves  that  go  rus- 
tling through  the  rice — without  the  blue  eyes  and 
kindly  face  of  Peter  Ernst  as  features  of  the  scene. 
And  a  kindred  spell,  I  am  sure,  has  held  the 
thoughts  and  emotions  of  many  another,  whose 
aching  heart  has  longed  to  know  some  death  secret 


He  was  alive,  but  expired  in  tlieir  uiiiib. 


Kankakee  Land  13 

hidden  in  the  fen-land  or  locked  in  the  peaceful 
bosom  of  the  shining  river,  pathetic  mysteries, 
which  only  the  heavens  that  bend  above  these 
silent  realms  may  ever  unfold. 


II 

HTCKORY-NUTS   AND   POTASH 

My  father  was  one  of  the  earliest  of  those  Anglo- 
Saxons  who  came  into  this  region  with  the  pur- 
pose of  living  the  white  man's  life.  He  conducted 
a  general  store  in  the  village  at  the  head  of  the 
east  fork  of  the  Kankakee.  A  general .  store  in 
those  days  carried  in  stock  merchandise  of  a  nature 
so  varied  as  to  meet  nearly  every  personal  want  of 
any  and  every  possible  customer.  Therefore,  it 
would  have  been  difficult  to  find  an  adult  indi- 
vidual in  all  the  country  for  miles  around  whose 
face  was  not  more  or  less  familiar  at  his  counters. 
But  of  all  the  motley  throng  that  entered  there, 
none  were  more  characteristic  of  the  region,  and 
perhaps  none  more  interesting,  than  those  that 
came  up  the  Pottowattomie  trail — an  ancient  path 
skirting  the  north  shore  line  of  the  Kankakee 
marshes  throughout  the  entire  length  of  the  river. 

Very  many  of  them  were  Indians,  and  not  a  few 

were  half-breeds.    The  others  were  French,  Scotch, 

14 


IIickor//-Xuts  and  Potash  15 

English,  and  Irish,  in  large  degree  the  lineal  de- 
scendants of  trappers  and  fur-traders,  who  for 
more  than  a  hundred  years  had  represented  the 
white  man  in  this  paradise  of  the  hunter.  Among 
them  was  one.  Doctor  Sandy  Illicott,  of  Scotch 
descent,  though  it  was  hinted  that  he  had  more 
than  a  little  touch  of  Indian  blood  in  his  veins. 
Our  family  and  the  people  of  the  region  knew 
him  as  Doctor  Sandy.  His  father,  like  the  grand- 
father before  him,  had  been  a  trader  among  the 
Indians  and  was  sufficiently  prosperous  to  edu- 
cate his  children,  a  numerous  brood.  All  of  them, 
enamored  of  civilized  life — all,  excepting  Doctor 
Sandy — had  renounced  the  wilderness  forever. 
The  latter,  finding  that  the  volume  of  his  father's 
business  was  rapidly  declining,  had  embarked  in 
a  more  congenial  and  more  profitable  line  of  labor. 
He  had  come  out  of  the  schools  an  expert  botanist 
and  well  versed  in  medicine.  To  these  acquire- 
ments he  subsequently  added  an  extensive  knowl- 
edge of  the  medicinal  properties  of  native  plants 
— a  store  of  wisdom  which  he  had  derived  wholly, 
or  in  part,  from  his  Pottowattomie  neighbors.  He 
was  thus  well  equipped  for  searching  out  and  pre- 
paring for  market  numerous  roots  and  barks  and 
leaves  and  berries  abounding  in  the  marshes,  and 


16  Tales  of  Kankakee  Land 

on  the  neighboring  uplands,  and  at  that  time  much 
sought  after  by  the  drug  trade  of  our  land  and 
others.  In  fact,  it  was  the  matter  of  these  medic- 
inal plants  that  brought  Doctor  Sandy  so  often  to 
my  father's  place  of  business. 

It  came  about  in  this  way.  The  travelling  sales- 
man of  our  time  had  not  then  been  heard  of,  and 
so,  the  merchant  annually  found  it  necessary  to 
make  the  long  journey  to  some  of  the  centres  of 
trade  in  the  East  to  select  and  purchase  those 
wares  essential  to  his  wilderness  traffic.  During 
the  fall,  therefore,  and  sometimes  in  the  spring, 
my  father  was  accustomed  to  set  out  for  New 
York  and  Boston.  The  route  by  which  he  trav- 
elled was  the  Great  Lakes  and  the  Erie  Canal. 
The  goods  purchased  in  the  East,  following  the 
same  line  of  water  communication,  found  a  com- 
paratively safe,  though  very  tedious,  transit  to 
the  southern  extremity  of  Lake  Michigan  and  the 
mouth  of  the  St.  Joseph  River.  If  their  arrival 
was  delayed — as  sometimes  happened — until  river- 
navigation  was  closed  for  the  winter,  there  was  no 
alternative  except  to  carry  the  goods  by  wagon 
fifty  miles  or  more  through  the  woods  and  across  a 
series  of  little  prairies,  and  so,  finally,  to  our  village. 

But  this  seldom  occurred,  for  the  ice  was  not 


Hickory-Nuts  and  Potash  17 

often  a  hindrance  on  the  St.  Joseph  in  early  winter, 
and  there  were  numerous  lines  of  barges  and  spa- 
cious canoes  by  which  merchandise  was  poled  up 
the  river.  There  were  also  many  miniature  sloops, 
and  later  small  steam-boats  plied  regularly,  touch- 
ing at  piers  that  were  strung  along  the  current's 
course  for  three  hundred  miles  or  more.  The  in- 
coming of  any  of  these  vessels  with  a  stock  of  goods 
for  a  local  merchant  was  an  event  in  the  village, 
and  was  duly  celebrated  at  the  landing  by  an  un- 
usual bustle  and  excitement,  in  which  wellnigh 
every  inhabitant  participated. 

But  this  bringing  in  of  the  annual  supplies  for 
trade  and  traffic  was,  in  truth,  less  interesting 
than  those  affairs  that  invested  the  merchant's  set- 
ting forth  for  his  eastward  journey;  nor  was  it  so 
significant  of  the  peculiar  conditions  of  the  place 
and  time.  Although  the  days  and  weeks  consumed 
in  such  a  journey  were  an  important  matter,  yet 
the  item  of  cash  expense,  during  this  period  when 
trade  was  mainly  by  barter  and  only  a  little  money 
came  into  one's  hand,  long  remained  a  factor  for 
very  grave  consideration.  How  to  twist  and  turn 
things  so  that  the  immediate  profits  of  the  trip 
might  pay  for  his  passage,  was  the  first  and  the  last 
thought  of  the  thrifty  tradesman  who  would  so- 


18  Tales  of  Kankakee  Land 

journ  for  a  brief  season  in  those  distant  marts  of 
Mammon.  Consequently,  he  was  on  the  lookout 
for  weeks  and  months  beforehand,  collecting  and 
stowing  away  for  the  eastern  market  any  choice 
commodities  which  the  environment  of  a  wilder- 
ness village  might  supply  cheaply  and  abundantly, 
always  discriminating  in  favor  of  such  articles  as 
might  find  ready  sale,  and  were  not  shut  out  by  the 
limited  facilities  of  transportation  on  our  river. 
Thus,  if  nothing  else  offered,  the  cargo  which  my 
father  took  with  him  would  consist  of  maple-sugar, 
cranberries,  and  dried  huckleberries — such  goods 
being  derived  chiefly  from  the  Indian  trade  that 
came  up  from  the  Kankakee.  The  sugar  was 
packed  in  pococks,  a  peculiar  cylindrical  vessel 
made  of  elm-bark.  Great  quantities  of  wild 
honey  were  quite  generally  a  conspicuous  part  of 
these  treasures  gathered  for  the  eastern  market. 
One  year,  being  unable  to  collect  any  adequate 
quantity  of  salable  supplies,  he  employed  the 
Indians  to  gather  a  barge-load  of  hickory-nuts. 
The  latter  seemed  of  superior  quality  that  season 
and  were  very  abundant.  The  venture  proved  a 
success,  the  nuts  finding  an  easy  market  in  New 
York.  Often  there  was  a  large  shipment  of 
potash,  which  the  soap-makers  of  New  York  were 


Hickory-Nuts  and  Potash  19 

at  all  times  glad  to  secure.  A  little  colony  of  in- 
dustrious Germans  had  settled  in  the  village,  and 
finding  nothing  else  to  do,  began  to  make  potash 
under  my  father's  direction,  the  abundant  hard- 
wood of  the  region  supplying  ashes  that  tempted 
this  peculiar  line  of  manufacture.  Furs  and  hides 
were  but  a  small  part  of  these  goods,  although  con- 
siderable consignments  of  such  peltries  as  the  trap- 
pers were  still  bringing  in,  were  often  accepted; 
and  when  disposed  of  at  good  prices,  liberal  com- 
missions were  to  be  derived  therefrom. 

The  day  having  finally  arrived  for  embarking 
on  this  important  journey,  the  goods  were  con- 
veyed to  the  landing  and  stowed  away  in  the  big 
barges  belonging  to  what  was  then  known  as  the 
Red  Dog  Line  of  Keelboats.  Our  entire  house- 
hold and  all  the  family's  intimate  friends  were  at 
hand  on  such  an  occasion ;  and,  in  fact,  few  in  the 
village  would  miss  the  sight  of  these  barges  push- 
ing out  from  the  pier,  swinging  into  the  current, 
and  gliding  swiftly  around  the  bend  and  away. 
In  the  harbor  at  the  mouth  of  the  river  the  goods 
were  lifted  into  a  sloop,  whose  plan  it  would  be  to 
work  out  into  the  lake  well  beyond  the  fishing- 
banks  and  then,  if  a  good  breeze  was  blowing, 
scud  before  it  or  tack  from  side  to  side.     Touch- 


20  Tales   of  Kankakee  Land 

ing  at  this  harbor  and  that  in  the  ship's  course, 
there  were  prolonged  delays  before  the  maple- 
sugar,  the  hickory-nuts,  the  potash,  and  what  not 
were  all  laid  down  safely  on  the  docks  of  Niagara 
River  and  the  Erie  Canal. 

It  will  be  remembered  that  some  of  the  goods 
were  such  as  others  had  consigned  to  my  father's 
care  and  keeping,  with  instructions  concerning 
their  sale  or  disposition.  And  it  is  this  particular 
fact  that  explains  the  intimate  and  lifelong  friend- 
ship between  him  and  Doctor  Sandy  Illicott.  My 
father  marketed  the  entire  product  of  Doctor 
Sandy's  toil — the  medicinal  plants  which  had 
been  gathered  through  the  forests  and  on  the  hill- 
sides and  around  the  pools  of  the  Kankakee. 
These  transactions  were  important  items  in  our 
business  when  I  arrived  at  such  an  age  as  to  be  of 
some  service  at  the  store.  Shortly  before  the  time 
set  for  my  father's  journey,  it  was  my  duty  and 
delight  to  spend  a  few  days  at  Doctor  Sandy's 
house,  helping  him  in  the  assortment  and  packing 
of  the  roots  and  herbs,  and  seeing  that  each  bale 
and  box  was  in  fit  condition  for  safe  shipment.  I 
remember  that  there  were  many  bales  of  snake- 
root,  and  that  we  weighed  it  very  carefully,  know- 
ing that  it  would  bring  at  least  a  dollar  per  pound, 


Hickory-Nuts  and  Potash  21 

and  perhaps  much  more.  There  were  great  quan- 
tities, too,  of  ginseng,  whose  value,  however,  it 
was  not  so  easy  to  estimate.  The  size  of  the 
larger  roots  would  determine  their  selling  price. 
I  do  not  recall  the  names  of  many  other  plants 
which  had  their  places  in  these  garnered  treasures. 
Most  of  them  were  designated  by  botanical  terms 
or  Indian  words,  both  of  which  were  then  Greek 
to  me.  My  reward  for  these  labors,  which  were 
severe  enough  for  some  very  real  compensation, 
was  a  day's  hunt  on  the  Kankakee  with  Doctor 
Sandy. 


ni 

EAGLE  POINT 

In  our  hunting  expeditions,  we  repaired  always 
to  the  same  place,  reaching  it  invariably  by  the 
same  route.  The  plan  was  to  saddle  our  horses 
before  daybreak  and  ride  straight  for  the  Pottowat- 
tomie  trail,  and  then  follow  that  path  many  miles 
down  the  river  to  an  Indian  village,  where  we 
could  leave  the  horses  and  pursue  our  journey 
farther  by  canoe.  The  objective  point  was  one 
of  the  delightful  islands,  or  groves,  peculiar  to  the 
strange  sodden  plains  of  Kankakee  Land.  Strictly 
speaking,  they  are  not  islands,  but  only  great  sand 
masses  elevated  some  fifteen  or  twenty  feet  above 
the  surrounding  bogs.  The  one  which  was  the 
favorite  resort  with  us  at  that  time,  any  person 
might  easily  distinguish  from  the  rest,  even  now. 
It  is  three  or  four  acres  in  extent,  and  unlike  many 
of  the  islands,  stands  near  the  present  bank  of  the 
river;  that  is  to  say,  the  stream  touches  the  point 
of  the  island.    This  fact  should  help  one  to  find  it; 


Eagle  Point  23 

for  at  the  very  point  is  a  huge  bowlder,  and  the 
latter  is  also  on  the  river-bank,  where  the  current 
makes  a  sharp  turn  to  the  right.  The  great  mass 
of  rock  is  worthy  of  more  than  a  moment's  thought. 

In  its  presence  one  comes  face  to  face  with  fifty 
thousand  years;  for  such  a  period  of  time  has 
elapsed,  we  are  told,  since  the  rock  broke  away 
from  the  clutch  of  some  mountainous  iceberg 
that  scoured  the  valley  during  the  glacial  epoch. 
Once  established  here,  neither  the  power  of  the 
mighty  floods  that  in  the  ancient  days  swirled 
through  all  this  plain,  nor  the  raging  elements  of 
innumerable  storms;  neither  heat  nor  cold,  nor 
any  other  agencies,  though  oft  invoked,  have 
availed  to  urge  from  its  firm  base  this  enduring 
monument,  which  still  proclaims  that  these  lands 
were  once  the  Frost  King's  realm.  The  rock's 
position  in  the  ancient  glacial  river  doubtless  de- 
termined the  island's  location  and  its  heart-shaped 
outline. 

The  Kankakee  of  that  remote  age  was  like 
the  Yukon  not  only  in  the  volume  of  its  cold  and 
raging  floods  but  also  in  its  tendency  to  create 
these  "heart"  islands.  Where  the  seething  cur- 
rents were  parted  by  an  immovable  obstacle,  they 
whirled   into   the  quieter  waters  behind   it  and 


24  Tales  of  Kankakee  Land 

dropped  their  heavier  burdens.  And  thus  the 
mass  grew  behind  the  obstructing  object  and  along 
Hnes  radiating  from  it,  assuming  from  the  first  a 
three-sided  contour.  The  longer  it  grew,  fewer 
and  fewer  were  the  contributions  received  by 
those  parts  near  the  centre  of  the  triangle's  base, 
so  that  the  finished  work  was  heart-shaped.  Many 
of  the  islands  of  the  Kankakee  that  were  originally 
heart-shaped  have  received  a  tapering  touch  at 
the  hands  of  gentler  currents  in  later  times,  as  may 
be  seen  from  the  low-lying  points  in  which  they  ter- 
minate. And  all  of  them  are  fringed  with  bush- 
covered  flats  cast  up  from  the  lake  that  inherited 
the  ancient  river's  bed,  when  the  foaming  currents 
had  utterly  died  away. 

This  island,  whose  quiet  haunts  we  loved  to  in- 
vade, was  covered  in  most  parts  with  an  oak-grove, 
with  here  and  there  a  giant  shell-bark  hickory. 
The  soft  turf  spread  beneath  this  grove  was 
screened  from  view  on  all  sides  by  the  tops  of 
dense  thickets  of  dogwood,  and  marsh  maples  and 
soft  willows  that  rose  from  the  low  ground  sur- 
rounding the  island,  their  upper  branches  glancing 
over  into  the  higher  plain  which  they  could  not 
invade.  Here  and  there,  over  the  interior,  was  a 
clump  of  sassafras  or  a  billowy  area  of  wild  roses. 


Eagle  Point  25 

There  was  a  place  where  a  few  white  birches  lifted 
their  graceful,  though  ghostly,  forms — a  rear-guard 
of  the  forest  flora  that  flourished  here  at  the  close 
of  the  ice  age,  but  long  since  retreated  to  the  far 
north,  seeking  the  congenial  conditions  of  colder 
soil  and  keener  winds.  Where  a  boggy  indentation 
at  the  base  of  the  island  completed  the  latter's 
heart-shaped  outline,  there  stood  a  dark,  compact 
mass  of  tamaracks.  The  delicate  foliage  of  their 
tender  green  rose  in  exquisite  contrast  against  the 
dull  gray  wall  of  massive  oak-trunks  that  leaned 
from  the  top  of  the  bank  and  far  on  high  spread 
out  their  leafy  branches,  as  if  with  solemn  invoca- 
tion of  peace.  The  surface  of  the  island  was  in 
general  a  smooth,  level  floor.  The  great  trees 
stood  far  apart,  lifting  their  lowermost  boughs 
thirty  and  forty  feet  in  the  air,  conditions  that  pre- 
vail only  in  those  forest  tracts  through  which  an- 
nual fires  find  their  way.  For  these  reasons  the 
place  was  everywhere  full  of  light,  and  everywhere 
one  could  look  under  the  foliage  and  across  to  the 
opposite  side  of  the  island  and  see  through  to  the 
narrow  strip  of  blue  sky  beyond.  And  how  sweet 
were  the  soft,  cool  airs  that  drifted  through  these 
vistas  that  were  never  dim,  these  shades  that  knew 
no  gloom! 


26  Tales  of  Kankakee  Land 

Near  the  point,  or  upper  part  of  this  island,  was 
a  circular,  or  slightly  oval,  depression,  the  bottom 
of  which  could  not  have  been  much  above  the  level 
of  the  marsh-land.  A  powerful  spring  at  the  cen- 
tre fed  a  pool  whose  shallow  margins,  as  they  re- 
ceded from  the  brink,  shelved  down  to  dark  and 
unknown  depths.  The  waters  were  discharged 
by  a  rill  that  gurgled  through  a  cleft  in  the  em- 
bankment and  made  its  way  swiftly  to  a  patch  of 
flags  in  the  outlying  marsh.  Long  ages  ago,  be- 
fore the  waters  of  the  spring  had  found  their  way 
to  the  surface  of  the  ground,  some  vigorous  vine 
had  laid  claim  to  this  spot,  and  had  driven  its  great 
tap-root  down  deep  through  soil  and  sand  and 
gravel,  on  down  and  down  to  the  clay-beds  that 
underlie  the  marshes,  that  so  it  might  daily  quench 
its  thirst  on  the  living  waters  that  there  abide.  A 
century  or  more  it  drank  its  fill,  then  threw  off  its 
leaves,  snapped  its  tendrils,  fell  prone  on  the  earth 
and  died. 

The  great  root,  yielding  to  sure,  though  slow, 
decay,  shrivelled  and  shrank  from  its  tapering 
mould  in  the  earth,  and  through  the  tiny  cor- 
ridor left  vacant  by  its  natural  tenant,  the  waters 
had  stealthily  crept  and  then  burst  forth  with  joy 
into  the  light  of  day.     With  such  vigor  the  little 


Eagle  Point  27 

tide  came  forth,  and  from  day  to  day  its  pent-up 
energies  waxed  so  great  and  strong,  that  it  tore 
away  the  sand  and  soil  and  fashioned  for  itself  in 
the  forest  there  a  great  bowl ;  and  this,  for  an  age, 
its  sparkling  flood  filled  to  the  beaded  brim.  But 
now,  itself  grown  old  and  its  life-currents  running 
with  a  feebler  pulse,  the  waters  have  fallen  back 
to  the  narrow  compass  of  a  shimmering  pool,  girt 
about  by  rushes  that  lean  from  its  circling  brink, 
but  with  its  heart  still  glad  in  the  smiles  of  the  blue 
sky.  Here  bird  and  beast  and  man  may  refresh 
the  spirit  and  linger  for  pleasant  meditation. 

And  surely,  none  who  stand  here  in  a  thoughtful 
mood  could  overlook  the  ancient  grass-grown 
hearths  of  the  red  man  that  a  few  paces  back  from 
the  water's  edge  are  drawn  in  a  rude  circle  about 
the  pool,  themselves  bowl-shaped  depressions  a 
few  inches  in  depth  and  three  to  six  feet  in  diame- 
ter, and  paved  with  stones  the  size  of  your  two 
fists.  You  must  dig  for  the  pavement  with  your 
cane,  for  the  stones  are  now  deeply  embedded  in 
thick  turf  and  leaf-mould.  Each  fireplace  stood 
at  the  centre  of  a  lodge.  Doctor  Sandy  was  wont 
to  declare  that  these  hearths  had  been  in  use  before 
the  arrival  of  the  white  man.  When  the  Indian 
had  come  into  the  possession  of  flint  and  steel  and 


28  Tales   of  Kankakee  Land 

a  swinging  kettle,  the  light  of  his  fireside  might  be 
kindled  in  any  convenient  place.  But  in  the  old 
days  "the  seed  of  fire"  was  a  sacred  thing  and 
must  be  guarded  with  greatest  care.  Slumbering 
on  the  hot  stones  of  the  spacious  fire-bowl,  the 
carefully  covered  embers  would  hold  fast  through 
one  moon,  and  more,  the  life  of  the  smothered 
flame. 

But,  alas,  no  more  may  those  dancing  fires 
rise  and  fall  on  the  ancient  hearth  to  light  up  the 
dark  features  that  once  knew  the  joys  of  this 
place.  No  more  may  they  show  forth  the  sloping 
walls  of  deer-skin  with  the  lodge  poles  and  their 
swinging  burdens  of  cradle  and  otter-bag,  of  quiver 
and  bow  and  war-club.  Never  again  may  the  soft 
and  pleasant  voices,  now  long  since  hushed  and 
forever  gone,  rehearse  for  mortal  ear  the  glory  of 
the  war-path  or  the  tales  of  the  chase  or  the  tradi- 
tions of  their  people  and  the  legends  of  their  gods. 
But  the  oak-leaf  flutters  down  on  the  pool,  as  of 
yore;  the  snow-flake  falls  and  melts  away;  the 
moon  and  the  white  stars,  in  turn,  still  keep  their 
solemn  vigils  with  the  faithful  fountain  of  the 
isle.  And  if  the  spirits  of  primitive  men  ever 
neglect  the  joys  of  the  eternal  shore  to  speed  down 
to  an  earthly  spot  to  fond  memory  dear,  those  who 


Eagle  Point  29 

once  knew  the  charms  of  this  peaceful  haunt  must 
sometimes  stand  together  here  to  softly  chant  a 
spirit's  song,  softly  whisper  a  spirit's  tale,  or  sweetly 
breathe  a  spirit's  love. 

The  island  was  well  known  to  many  of  us,  nor 
were  our  experiences  confined  to  any  particular 
season  of  the  year.  During  the  school  holidays  of 
midwinter  we  sometimes  skated  down  to  the  place, 
following  all  the  windings  of  the  river — unless  dur- 
ing a  time  of  exceptionally  high  water,  when  we 
preferred  the  ice  on  the  open  marsh.  But  it  was  a 
hard  push  and  demanded  an  early  morning  start; 
for  every  skater  must  be  back  again  and  off  the  ice 
before  night-fall.  Both  the  river-ice  and  that 
on  the  marsh  were  peculiarly  treacherous,  since 
springs  rise  at  frequent  intervals  in  the  river-bed 
and  elsewhere,  and  where  they  are  of  sufficient 
volume  the  ice  does  not  form,  or  quickly  melts 
away.  In  other  places,  where  some  mere  trifle  of 
a  bubbling  current  has  kept  steadily  at  work,  the 
frozen  surface  is  gradually  thinned  out  from  be- 
neath, threatening  a  cold  plunge,  if  not  a  terrible 
disaster,  for  the  incautious  footstep  of  man  or 
beast  venturing  thereon.  But  the  practised  eye 
is  able  to  detect  a  tell-tale  change  in  the  shading 
of  the  surface ;   and  as  an  extra  provision  against 


30  Tales  of  Kankakee  Land 

danger,  we  were  accustomed  to  carry  a  staff,  or 
pole,  strapped  to  one  wrist.  Therefore,  in  the 
winter  time  there  were  no  moonlight  expeditions 
on  the  Kankakee,  and  as  soon  as  the  dusk  of  even- 
ing had  fallen,  the  skaters  knew  that  to  be  safe  one 
must  be  away. 

Yet  we  felt  that  we  were  repaid  for  the  severe 
labor,  and  for  the  danger  which  we  had  braved. 
Nowhere  else  could  we  find  such  flocks  of  cedar- 
birds,  nowhere  so  many  cross-bills;  and  here,  if 
nowhere  else,  there  were  sometimes  a  few  white 
buntings  mingling  with  the  linnets  and  chickadees 
that  infested  every  tangled  thicket  of  weeds  and 
briars.  Here  in  the  marsh  it  was  not  unusual  to 
find  a  snowy  owl  dropped  down  on  some  dead  limb 
or  on  the  first  convenient  stake  he  could  find  when 
overtaken  by  the  daylight.  It  is  not  easy  to  dis- 
tinguish him  where  the  frost  has  powdered  thick 
every  bush  and  heaped  a  crystalline  clump  on  every 
earth  hummock.  Nor  would  one  be  apt  to  dream 
of  his  presence,  had  not  the  sharp  eyes  of  the  blue- 
jays  caught  a  glimpse  of  the  strange,  animated 
snow-tuft.  Blind  and  almost  helpless,  the  startled 
and  angry  owl  must  submit  to  their  jeers  and 
taunts  and  even  their  buffets,  in  which  they  may 
almost  throw  him  from  his  perch.     They  are  the 


Eagle  Point  31 

worst  dare-devils  of  the  marshes,  as  you  may  sec; 
for  they  will  not  desist  until  the  most  reckless  one 
among  the  flock  has  softly  winged  his  way  to  a 
point  in  mid-air  some  distance  above  and  a  little 
behind  the  owl,  and  then  dropped  like  a  stone  on 
the  hot  head  of  old  Bubo,  giving  the  latter's  neck 
a  very  uncomfortable  twist.  The  jays  will  then 
make  off  with  a  most  outrageous  clatter  of  self- 
satisfaction  that  furnishes  a  very  near  approach  to 
derisive  laughter.  There  will  be  a  fierce  glaring 
of  fiery,  though  sightless,  eyeballs,  much  uneasy 
stepping  about  on  the  perch  and  a  furious  snapping 
of  the  hard,  white  mandibles — demonstrations 
that  bode  no  good  to  the  impudent  jay  that  is 
caught  on  the  perch  when  darkness  has  set  in  once 
more.  The  snowy  owl  is  ravenously  hungry  now, 
for  he  has  been  frozen  out  of  the  far  northland  and 
has  descended  on  the  Kankakee  to  see  what  he 
can  find.  Ten  to  one  he  will  wring  the  necks  of 
more  than  one  blue-jay  before  his  ire  is  appeased 
and  his  appetite  fully  satisfied. 

The  winter  birds  on  the  marshes  show  many  va- 
rieties. An  occasional  duck  whistles  by  or  drops 
into  a  pond  which  the  springs  have  kept  open. 
During  the  very  dead  of  winter  these  open  pools 
gather  to  themselves  many  strange  migrants  that 


82  Tales  of  Kankakee  Land 

are  not  to  be  found  in  the  region  during  any  other 
season  of  the  year.  The  red  duck  of  San  Fran- 
cisco Harbor  and  the  canvas-backs  of  Chesapeake 
Bay  are  sometimes  found  huddled  together  in  the 
same  pool.  The  wonderful  pinions  that  have 
swept  the  continent  in  search  of  hospitality,  have 
settled  at  last  among  the  unfailing  comforts  of 
Kankakee  Land.  Sometimes  a  bevy  of  plump 
bob-whites  rises  before  you  on  whirring  wings, 
sails  off  beyond  the  bushes,  drops  to  the  ground 
and  runs  away.  At  noon  the  ruffed  grouse  leaves 
his  fallen  tree  in  the  woods  and  finds  delicious 
pickings  in  the  frozen  huckleberry-patch.  The 
crows  are  everywhere — in  the  distant  tree-tops,  on 
the  wing  far  up  against  the  sky,  or  pacing  the  icy 
floor  with  stately  tread.  On  the  big  eagle- tree 
near  the  point  of  the  island  are  the  downy  wood- 
peckers working  industriously  over  a  great  spread 
of  warm  bark,  which  they  must  surrender  in  the 
spring  to  the  red  head  and  the  golden  wing. 

Mention  of  the  eagle-tree  calls  to  mind  that  it  is 
said  to  have  been  for  a  period  of  many  years  the 
nesting-place  of  a  pair  of  bald  eagles.  The  great 
bird  which  supplied  us  with  the  national  emblem 
is  still  at  home  along  the  Kankakee,  and  was  for- 
merly a  common  feature  in  its  life.    We  can  be- 


Eagle  Point  33 

lieve  that  in  the  old  days  the  young  eaglets  were 
indeed  nestled  in  their  traditional  tree.  The  lat- 
ter is  a  white  oak  of  monstrous  size,  rising  from  a 
spot  in  plain  view  of  the  river,  and  the  great  naked 
arm  which  it  still  lifts  high  in  air  has  always  re- 
mained a  favorite  lookout  for  the  birds  of  prey 
that  scan  these  fields.  The  island  as  a  whole 
seems  never  to  have  been  distinguished  by  any 
name  or  title,  but  those  who  fared  this  way  knew 
the  spot  from  the  circumstance  of  the  tree,  and 
called  it  Eagle  Pomt. 

There  was  still  another  tradition  associated  with 
this  venerable  oak,  and,  in  fact,  inscribed  upon  its 
massive  shaft.  Doctor  Sandy  would  point  to  a 
broad  scar  on  that  side  of  the  tree  which  was  turned 
toward  the  river,  a  spot  at  one  time  plainly  visible 
from  that  direction,  though  now  obscured  by  in- 
tervening foliage  of  recent  growth.  The  scar — 
so  he  maintained — was  an  Iroquois  sign  made  by 
a  war-party  of  the  Five  Nations  during  one  of  their 
memorable  expeditions  against  the  Illinois.  The 
Iroquois  had  left  a  message  to  their  friends  coming 
after  them,  and  its  terms  had  been  cut  in  the  white 
wood  and  were  doubtless  sometimes  renewed  or 
changed  in  after  years.  The  Kankakee  was  the 
favorite  route  by  which,  for  a  long  period  of  years, 


34  Tales  of  Kankakee  Land 

that  cruel  and  relentless  foe  made  its  disastrous  in- 
cursions into  the  lands  of  the  less  warlike  tribes  of 
the  West — the  Miamis,  the  Illinois,  and  the  Wis- 
consin Indians.  It  therefore  seems  not  improb- 
able that  the  old  eagle-tree  was  also  the  "witness- 
tree" — as  Doctor  Sandy  was  wont  to  say. 

What  dreadful  import  may  have  lodged  in  the 
message  inscribed  and  painted  thereon,  and  how  it 
froze  the  hearts  and  palsied  the  utterance  of  the 
captives  brought  back  from  the  Illinois,  or  what 
new  anguish  it  may  have  foretold  for  them,  not  any 
record  may  now  reveal.  But  full  well  we  know 
that  the  signs  emblazoned  here  contained  no 
honeyed  phrase  for  the  western  tribes;  for  never 
did  an  eagle  in  all  the  life  of  this  aged  tree  pitch 
from  the  heights  above  on  its  cowering  victim  in 
the  grasses  below  with  half  the  vengeful  fury  that 
impelled  the  murderous  onslaught  of  the  Iroquois. 
Long  ago  the  rains  from  heaven  washed  out  the 
colors  in  the  fatal  sign;  long  ago  the  life-currents 
of  the  tree  drew  the  nice  folds  of  the  new  growth 
over  and  across  the  hated  mark;  but  the  scar 
must  ever  abide,  like  the  white  man's  memory  of 
the  Iroquois'  cruel  heart. 


IV 

THE    FLAMING   SEA 

By  the  side  of  an  ancient  path  leading  down  to 
the  big  bowlder  that  formed  the  very  point  and 
beginning  of  the  island,  was  a  small  plot  of  ground, 
a  natural  terrace,  whose  surface  was  covered  by 
the  plum-grove.  Overtopping  growths  of  the  fox- 
grape  made  still  denser  the  thick  shades  of  the  in- 
terwoven plum  branches.  The  place  afforded  a 
fine  covert  for  the  hunter,  who  was  screened  by  the 
ample  canopy  overhead  and  by  the  tops  of  the 
willows  in  front  rising  from  the  lower  ground  far- 
ther down  the  slope.  He  could  sit  back  in  the 
shade  and,  glancing  over  the  willows,  find  it  easy 
to  watch  the  marsh  on  either  side  and  all  the  plain 
through  a  wide  sweep  for  miles  and  miles  away 
down  the  stream.  Stationed  here  when  ducks 
and  geese  were  on  the  wing,  one  could  know  long 
in  advance  what  birds  were  coming,  and  could 
have  his  nerves  all  steadied  down  and  be  ready  to 
step  out  on  the  grass  in  front  of  the  plum-trees 

35 


36  Tales  of  Kankakee  Land 

and  draw  a  bead  on  the  flock  as  it  passed  over  or 
swung  to  either  side.  And  the  grove  was  also  his 
camp,  a  single  sheet  of  sloping  canvas  furnishing 
a  water-shed.  Along  one  edge  the  canvas  was 
made  fast  to  the  boughs,  while  the  opposite  border 
was  secured  near  the  bottoms  of  several  of  the 
small  tree-trunks.  A  few  armfuls  of  dried  reeds 
spread  on  the  ground  beneath  this  sloping  roof 
were  covered  with  blankets.  These  simple  ar- 
rangements left  little  to  be  desired  for  the  comfort 
and  convenience  of  the  hunter.  Advantages  like 
these  were  worth  going  a  long  way  to  find,  and 
when  found  would  be  kept  in  mind  and  sought  out 
again  and  again.  It  was  the  plum -grove  with  its 
fortunate  location  and  natural  convenience  that 
more  than  anything  else  had  made  Eagle  Point  a 
favorite  resort  for  Doctor  Sandy  and  myself.  The 
hunting — or  rather  the  shooting — was  left  to  me. 
The  doctor  was  something  of  a  hunter,  too,  but  it 
was  the  remarkable  floral  wealth  of  the  island  that 
moved  him  most,  rather  than  the  bird-life  or  that 
of  other  denizens  of  the  parts.  While  I  was  in- 
tent in  watching  the  movements  of  the  ducks,  he 
was  busily  at  work  searching  for  some  rare  flower 
or  gathering  his  store  of  roots  or  herbs.  I  recall 
that  he  found  pipsissewa  more  abundant  here  than 


The  Flaming  Sea  87 

elsewhere.  It  is  a  small  plant  with  evergreen 
leaves,  and  was  formerly  well  known  as  an  Indian 
remedy  for  rheumatism  and  kindred  ills. 

On  the  occasion  of  one  of  our  visits  to  this  spot, 
Doctor  Sandy,  having  finished  his  labors  early  in 
the  afternoon,  returned  to  the  inviting  shades  of 
our  camp.  It  was  a  hot  day  and  no  ducks  were 
on  the  wing.  So  we  sat  in  our  cool  retreat  beneath 
the  plum-trees  and  the  vine,  watching  three  marsh 
harriers.  Throughout  the  day  hawks  of  this  spe- 
cies are  unremitting  in  their  careful  patrol  of  these 
regions,  bog  and  pool  and  the  rustling  rice.  The 
harriers  were  circling  over  one  of  those  immense 
tracts  of  reeds  that  thrive  so  wonderfully  in  this 
place,  the  stems  standing  very  thick  and  attaining 
often  a  height  of  seventeen  and  eighteen  feet.  The 
heavy  frosts  had  left  every  leaf-blade  dead  and 
sear.  The  remark  that  a  firebrand  dropped  into 
this  tinder-box  of  withered  foliage  would  spread 
speedy  havoc,  was  confirmed  by  Doctor  Sandy 
with  something  more  than  his  usual  emphasis. 

No  other  man  understood  more  thoroughly  how 
awful  might  be  the  fury  of  such  a  conflagration; 
for  a  lifetime  he  had  studied  the  power  of  these 
flames  and  their  effects  on  the  fortunes  of  the  Kan- 
kakee.   He  began  to  speak  of  these  efifects  and  to 


38  Tales  of  Kankakee   Land 

show  that  the  rank  vegetation  would  long  since 
have  filled  up  the  entire  valley  and  made  it  dry 
land,  had  it  not  been  for  the  annual  ravages  of  the 
flames  burning  great  holes  and  veritable  gulfs  in 
the  deep  peat -beds  during  a  dry  season.  Talking 
in  such  a  strain  as  this,  Doctor  Sandy  ran  on,  until 
his  memory,  jogged  by  the  conversation,  finally 
gave  up  a  detailed  account  of  one  of  those  great 
marsh-fires  such  as  from  time  to  time  have  ravaged 
the  wide,  watery  plains  of  Kankakee  Land.  Not 
the  least  of  the  charms  in  the  tale's  rehearsal 
was  a  certain  simplicity  of  statement  comporting 
well  with  personal  experiences  such  as  few  have 
ever  sustained  or  would  wish  to,  and  from  whose 
shock  a  man  might  never  entirely  recover.  In- 
deed, all  the  minor  details,  as  well  as  the  more 
startling  facts,  gave  the  account  such  an  air  of 
reality  that  no  listener  could  fail  to  receive  them 
as  the  calm,  though  very  forcible,  statement  of 
one  of  the  many  real  and  fearful  tragedies  enacted 
in  this  wilderness  through  ages  past. 

''That  green  pool  of  deep  water  over  there  at  the 
left,"  said  he,  "was  dry  land  in  1835.  It  was  cov- 
ered with  grass  like  that  on  the  upland  prairies 
and  was  firm  enough  to  walk  upon ;  and  although 
there  were  no  trees  on  its  surface,  the  ground 


The  Flaming  Sea  39 

seemed  as  substantial  as  this  island.  But  on  that 
date  the  ground  went  out  of  sight,  and  ever  since 
deep  cold  water  has  held  the  place." 

"  About  this  time  in  the  fall  of  that  year,"  thus 
Doctor  Sandy  continued,  "I  came  here  with  The 
Black  Feather,  an  Indian  boy  of  your  age,  or,  it 
may  be,  older  by  a  year  or  two.  I  had  found  him 
useful  in  my  work,  and  it  was  now  my  intention 
that  he  should  gather  calamus-root  down  there  be- 
yond  the  tamarack  swamp.  The  sweet-flag  roots 
which  grow  there  are  not  always  so  large,  but  they 
are  finer  and  firmer  and  seem  more  pungent.  I 
intended  to  dig  sassafras  in  those  clumps  along  the 
side  of  the  island.  Before  we  began  our  tasks.  The 
Black  Feather  dropped  the  remark  that  old  Poco 
had  a  great  deal  of  ginseng  which  he  and  his  family 
had  collected  and  were  holding  until  I  should  call 
for  it.  Poco  was  a  half-breed  who  lived  many 
miles  down  the  river  where  the  stream  begins  to 
widen  into  one  of  the  long  narrow  lakes.  I  would 
need  the  ginseng  in  a  few  days,  and  therefore  I 
determined  to  change  my  plans  and  have  The 
Black  Feather  jiaddle  down  to  Poco's  lodge  and 
return  with  the  roots  as  soon  as  possible.  I  would 
get  out  the  sweet-flags  and  let  the  sassafras  go; 
that  would  be  just  as  well,  too,  for  the  fall  of  the 


40  Tales  of  Kankakee  Land 

year  is  not  the  best  season  for  taking  the  sas- 
safras. 

"So  The  Black  Feather  folded  a  deer-skin  into 
a  sort  of  cushion,  which  he  laid  in  the  end  of  the 
canoe.  Kneeling  on  this,  he  took  the  paddle  and 
was  soon  rounding  that  bend  in  the  river.  I 
watched  to  see  his  head  emerge  from  behind  a 
fringe  of  bushes  that  covered  the  bank  nearly  as 
far  as  the  next  turn.  I  would  see  him  while  he  was 
making  the  turn.  I  must  admit  that  I  was  struck 
with  a  feeling  of  loneliness  and  wanted  even  a  last 
glimpse  of  that  Indian  boy.  I  watched  closely, 
but  saw  nothing  of  him.  I  waited  for  some  time, 
wondering  why  he  did  not  appear.  Presently,  I 
saw  him  returning,  and,  just  as  he  was  stepping 
lightly  from  the  canoe,  I  observed  the  cause  of  his 
action.  We  both  climbed  upon  the  bowlder  there 
and  stood  for  some  minutes  studying  the  obscure 
outline,  the  color  and  the  slight  movement  of  a 
little  cloud  that  rose  far,  far  beyond  the  place  where 
the  marsh  and  the  sky  meet.  Then  we  came  up 
here  by  the  plum-grove  to  get  a  better  view.  The 
Black  Feather  thought  that  it  would  be  prudent 
for  him  to  stay,  but  the  danger  seemed  slight  and 
I  wanted  the  ginseng  at  once,  if  ever.  The  store 
was  very  valuable  and  would  find  inmiediate  sale. 


The  Flaming  Sea  41 

I  told  him  to  hasten,  to  look  out  for  himself,  and 
to  return  with  all  possible  speed,  and  that  he  should 
tell  any  Indian  he  might  find  fishing  on  the  river 
below  to  come  with  a  canoe  at  once  to  Eagle  Point. 
If  I  felt  lonesome  when  he  first  set  out,  this  time  I 
almost  trembled  at  my  own  rashness.  I  watched 
the  cloud  for  a  long  time.  I  thought  I  could  see  it 
change  color.  For  a  few  minutes  I  was  faint  with 
fear,  and  then  I  grew  calmer  and  looked  around 
me  to  see  how  I  might  protect  myself  from  threat- 
ened danger.  When  I  came  to  look  the  matter 
squarely  in  the  face,  I  quite  recovered  from  my 
state  of  trepidation.  There  was  not  any  so  great 
risk,  nothing  more  than  a  slight  possibility  of  se- 
rious harm,  I  said  to  myself.  Then  my  fears  took 
hold  of  me  again. 

"There  was  a  vine  at  that  time  encircling  the 
eagle-tree  and  winding  out  of  sight  among  its 
branches.  With  its  help  I  mounted  to  the  lower 
limbs  and  then  climbed  quickly  to  the  top,  catching 
a  glimpse  of  The  Black  Feather  and  his  canoe  as  I 
went  up.  He  was  making  haste,  indeed ;  he  could 
not  have  gone  faster.  How  beautifully  he  twirled 
the  light  paddle  and  how  deliberately  he  held  on 
to  each  stroke  just  long  enough  to  derive  the  fullest 
and  best  effect  from  his  effort,  and  how  like  a  run- 


42  Tales  of  Kankakee  Land 

ning  deer  the  canoe  glided  from  bend  to  bend! 
The  sight  was  a  rehef  at  first,  and  then  it  filled  me 
with  a  new  fear.  Were  there  causes  for  alarm 
which  the  Indian  had  not  fully  disclosed  before  he 
went  away  or  had  since  perceived?  And  then  I 
saw  him  turn  the  prow  on  to  the  mud  flat  at  that 
place  where  the  river  approaches  near  the  firm 
land.  There  was  something  there  to  help  him,  a 
dead  limb,  perhaps,  on  which  he  could  stand  and 
push  the  canoe  along  over  the  surface  of  the  slough. 
Standing  alternately  on  the  object  and  then  in  the 
canoe,  he  worked  his  way  to  soil  that  would  sustain 
his  weight,  and  so  reached  the  solid  shore-line  of 
the  marsh.  I  saw  him  draw  out  the  canoe  and 
hide  it  in  the  alders,  and  then  he  shot  into  the  forest 
and  was  gone.  Of  all  this  I  heartily  approved,  and 
was  devoutly  thankful  for  the  boy's  wise  thought- 
fulness.  I  understood  his  plan.  An  Indian  lived 
near  this  place.  The  Black  Feather  would  desert 
the  canoe  for  the  rest  of  the  journey,  secure  a  horse, 
and  make  a  dash  through  the  woods.  A  beaten 
path  all  the  distance  would  enable  him  by  dint  of 
a  few  hours  of  hard  riding  to  reach  a  ford  that  cut 
an  angling  way  across  the  marsh.  Once  safely 
on  the  other  side,  it  was  but  a  little  run  to  old  Poco's 
lodge. 


The  Flaming  Sea  43 

"In  traversing  the  ford,  he  could  not  use  the 
horse;  for  there  are  places  where  the  animal  would 
find  no  footing.  He  would  tether  the  steed  in  the 
woods,  and  stripping  off  his  clothing,  would  wind  it 
in  a  convenient  bundle,  so  that  he  might  hold  the 
latter  above  his  head  in  those  places  where  the  water 
is  deepest.  The  ford  is  made  of  sand,  spread  on  the 
bottom  of  the  marsh  in  a  location  where  the  water 
is  distributed  at  nearly  an  even  depth  from  shore 
to  shore.  It  angles  in  several  places  so  as  to  avoid 
springs  whose  currents  would  be  an  inconvenience 
to  the  traveller,  and  might  also  disturb  the  sands 
so  carefully  laid  down.  The  white  man  may  weU 
marvel  at  the  ingenuity  of  the  hand  that  constructed 
this  firm  trail  through  the  waters,  choosing  the  de- 
vious line  that  alone  of  all  made  such  a  pathway 
possible  and  permanently  secure.  Some  of  the 
ancient  races  must  have  toiled  at  this  task,  some 
that  had  never  heard  of  the  horse;  otherwise  ma- 
terials had  been  used  that  would  sustain  his  weight, 
as  well  as  that  of  man.  But  The  Black  Feather's 
steed  will  not  have  long  to  wait  for  that  impatient 
rider's  return. 

"Seeing  clearly  my  Indian  boy's  plan  of  action, 
I  might  have  descended  at  once  from  the  eagle- 
tree  ;   but  I  stopped  for  an  hour  or  more  and  held 


44  Tales   of  Kankakee  Land 

my  eyes  on  the  place  where  he  had  vanished  from 
sight.  Each  moment  I  hoped  to  see  someone  ap- 
pear with  a  canoe  sent  for  my  reHef.  No  one 
came.  Then  I  knew  that  The  Black  Feather  had 
found  an  empty  lodge  in  the  place  where  he  had 
hoped  to  obtain  a  horse.  The  inmates  of  the 
lodge  had  doubtless  gone  over  into  the  valley  of 
the  St.  Joseph  to  prepare  for  the  winter  hunt,  as 
was  their  custom  at  this  season  of  the  year.  Al- 
though this  was  a  new  source  of  anxiety  to  me, 
since  it  wellnigh  cut  off  all  hope  of  relief  for  my- 
self, which  I  might  sorely  need,  yet  it  would 
scarcely  delay  my  messenger.  He  would  find  a 
horse  without  difficulty.  Hundreds  of  them  were 
roaming  through  the  woods  and  dry  meadows  that 
skirted  the  Kankakee.  Before  I  descended  I  scru- 
tinized with  greatest  care  all  the  winding  loops  and 
turns  where  the  river  draws  its  thread  of  silver 
through  the  varied  carpet  of  summer's  green  and 
autumn's  gold  that  now  o'erspread  this  strange  ex- 
panse. From  behind  that  tiny  island  far  to  the 
east  and  north  the  slender  current  first  came  forth; 
and  thence  I  held  it  fast  with  my  eye,  intent  for  the 
slightest  evidence  of  human  life,  until  pursuit  was 
lost  in  the  dim  haze  that  now  commingled  plain 
and  sky  in  the  west.     I  was  alone  in  a  vast  sea. 


The  Flaming  Sea  45 

"How  desolate,  how  utterly  forbidding,  appeared 
this  sodden  and  quaking  floor  that  stretched  away 
in  unending  bog  and  black  ooze  and  bottomless 
pools!  There  was  a  fascination  in  the  scene,  it  is 
true,  but  at  this  moment  it  was  the  fascination  of 
horror.  Sick  at  heart,  I  began  to  let  myself  down 
to  the  lower  branches  of  the  tree.  I  had  descended 
only  a  little  way,  when  a  number  of  yellow  finches 
that  were  perched  for  a  moment's  rest  on  the  top- 
most twigs,  spread  their  wings  and  burst  into 
joyous  song  as  they  fled  away.  I  watched  the 
peculiar  undulations  of  their  flight,  until  my  senses 
could  no  longer  distinguish  song  or  singer.  It  was 
a  most  trifling  episode,  but  it  stirred  within  me  a 
new  courage.  In  my  inmost  soul  I  blessed  the 
happy  hearts  that  were  glad  in  this  evil  hour  be- 
cause God  had  given  them  wings.  He  had  given 
me  reason,  and  without  further  delay  it  must  exert 
itself  for  my  deliverance. 

"  I  slid  down  the  vine,  but  before  I  had  reached 
the  ground  I  had  determined  to  abandon  all  further 
efforts  to  gather  the  sassafras  or  sweet-flags,  and  to 
apply  myself  at  once  to  the  construction  of  a  raft. 
It  would  be  foolhardy,  if  not  criminal,  to  brave  the 
dangers  of  this  place  while  such  a  means  of  escape 
could  be  provided.     But  search  as  I  might,  I  was 


46  Tales   of  Kankakee  Land 

not  able  to  find  the  axe.  The  Black  Feather  had 
stowed  it  away  in  some  place  unknown  to  me,  or 
had  taken  it  with  him.  The  situation  was  desper- 
ate, but  I  found  a  way  out  of  the  trouble.  Dovm 
near  the  tamaracks  was  a  clump  of  alders.  I 
gathered  dead  brushwood  and  placed  it  around 
such  of  them  as  were  large  enough  to  furnish 
suitable  timbers  for  the  raft.  Setting  fire  to  the 
brush,  I  fed  the  flames  until  the  green  wood  of  the 
trees  was  deeply  charred.  I  then  pulled  away  the 
embers,  and  with  the  mattock  which  I  had  for 
digging  roots,  chipped  off  the  charred  wood  and 
then  kindled  the  fires  again.  Repeating  this 
process  many  times,  I  finally  brought  down  the 
trees.  This  was  the  old  Indian  way  of  felling  a 
tree  in  the  ancient  times,  when  they  had  no  better 
tool  than  a  stone  axe.  I  had  often  heard  it  de- 
scribed and  found  that  it  worked  as  stated,  though 
the  method  now  proved  a  very  slow  one. 

"  I  was  much  absorbed  and  know  not  how  long  I 
toiled  in  this  way.  I  had  not  noticed  that  clouds 
were  drifting  across  the  sky;  but  when  I  looked  up 
again,  it  rained.  At  first  it  was  only  a  drizzle,  but 
even  that  seemed  a  blessed  promise  of  relief.  Then 
rain-drops  came  down  big  and  fast  and  hard.  As 
I  stood  by,  resting  and  meditating,  it  occurred  to 


The  Flaming  Sea  4il 

me  for  the  first  time  that  I  might  have  rendered  the 
island  a  comparatively  safe  retreat  by  firing  the 
dry  grasses  on  all  sides.  This  would  have  estab- 
lished in  a  gentle  way  a  wide  zone,  across  which  the 
fiercer  flames  could  not  have  reached.  This,  too, 
was  a  device  of  the  red  man's.  I  was  greatly 
chagrined  at  thought  of  my  stupid  neglect.  It  was 
now  too  late,  since  the  dead  vegetation  was  thor- 
oughly drenched.  The  rain  ceased  after  a  time, 
and  the  clouds  in  part  disappeared.  When  the 
grasses  had  dried,  I  would  apply  the  torch.  I  went 
on  with  the  building  of  the  raft.  Fires  were 
lighted  under  the  prostrate  tree-trunks,  so  as  to 
sever  them  in  lengths  proper  for  the  purpose  in- 
tended. 

"  It  was  while  thus  engaged  that  I  observed  the 
tree-tops  on  the  island  beginning  to  bend  and  sway 
under  the  pressure  of  a  powerful  wind.  In  the 
same  moment  the  air  was  laden  with  the  whirr  and 
whistle  and  flutter  of  innumerable  wings,  and  the 
quick  calls  of  little  birds,  and  the  affrighted  cries  of 
vast  flights  of  the  wild-fowl.  I  ran  to  the  nearest 
high  point  on  the  right  side  of  the  island  and  beheld 
a  huge  cloud  hanging  low  in  the  west  and  spread 
along  so  as  to  shut  out  the  sky-line  for  some  dis- 
tance.   It  was  miles  and  miles  and  miles  away, 


48  Tales  of  Kankakee  Land 

but  it  was  there ;  now  black  and  ugly  with  fearful 
portent,  now  glowing  with  the  dull  deep  red  of  in- 
ternal heat,  and  now  paling  into  ashy  gray.  The 
wind  was  rising  into  a  gale,  but  it  bore  along  the 
odor  of  lilies  and  flags  and  sweet  grasses  aflame, 
the  choicest  incense  that  ever  rose  to  the  nostrils 
of  the  Fire  King.  Not  until  a  considerable  time 
thereafter  was  the  atmosphere  tainted  with  smoke 
of  any  degree  of  pungency.  And  the  birds  were 
everywhere  a  darkening  cloud,  jostling  each  other 
in  mid-air  or  settling  in  the  reeds  for  a  brief  stay 
and  then  rising  again  in  mad  haste,  teel  and 
plump  little  butter-balls  and  mallards  and  swift 
spirit  ducks  and  wild  geese  and  an  occasional 
swan  and  bitterns  and  herons  and  cranes  sailing 
on  ponderous  wings;  and,  now  and  then,  a  re- 
splendent throng  of  snowy  egret  and  hawks  of 
every  size  and  species  and  the  osprey  and  the 
eagle;  and  borne  along  by  the  feathered  tide, 
thousands  and  tens  of  thousands  of  little  birds. 
The  commotion  was  much  increased  by  the  hesi- 
tating flutter  and  momentary  pause  by  which 
nearly  all  showed  that  they  were  searching  for 
some  convenient  spot  where  they  might  settle 
down.  It  seemed  strange,  indeed,  that  any  living 
creature  blessed  with  the  power  of  flight  should 


»  The  Flaming  Sea  49 

be  endowed  with  such  feeble  reason  as  to  hover 
near  these  haunts  that  soon  must  be  given  over  to 
death  and  destruction. 

"  I  knew  instinctively  what  must  be  done.  The 
labor  necessary  for  the  completion  of  the  raft 
would  consume  the  precious  time  in  which  alone 
escape  by  such  means  was  possible.  To  be  caught 
on  the  narrow  river  in  a  whirlwind  of  fire  would 
be  an  awful  fate.  I  ran  back  to  the  alders  for  the 
mattock,  resolved  to  provide  a  safe  retreat  by 
digging  a  cave.  But  where?  The  low  ground 
around  the  island  would  not  do,  since  the  exca- 
vation would  fill  with  water,  and  the  materials 
removed,  when  once  dry,  were  themselves  inflam- 
mable. To  cut  into  the  side  of  the  higher  bank 
of  the  island  would  be  to  suffer  from  exposure  to 
scorching  flames  and  suffocating  smoke  and  the 
intense  reflections  from  the  burning  plain.  I 
heartily  wished  that  the  deep  depression  in  which 
the  spring  rose  had  been  at  the  lower  end  of  the 
island;  but  even  located  as  it  was  at  the  point,  its 
sloping  wall  seemed  to  offer  the  best  promise  of 
speedy  and  sure  success.  I  chose  the  bank  on  the 
side  toward  the  approaching  flames,  and  devoted 
my  utmost  energies  to  the  task  of  constructing  a 
cave. 


50  Tales   of  Kankakee  Land     * 

"The  mattock  served  me  well.  A  straight  and 
narrow  cleft  was  made,  cutting  down  from  the 
top.  When  these  walls  had  been  carried  in  to 
such  a  depth  that  to  go  farther  would  almost  com- 
pel one  to  pass  under  the  hill,  it  was  necessary  to 
stop,  lest  the  earth  should  cave  in  from  above. 
The  walls  were  sloped  and  then  hollowed  out  a 
little.  I  ran  quickly  for  sticks  and  light  brush, 
which  I  spread  over  the  top  of  the  excavation. 
One  of  the  sacks  which  I  always  carried  with  me 
for  holding  small  roots  was  then  filled  with  mud 
from  the  pool  around  the  spring  and  the  contents 
spread  over  the  brush.  Above  the  mud  I  heaped 
up  some  of  the  loose  earth.  I  had  not  thought  it 
desirable  to  carry  the  roof  down  in  front  so  far  as 
to  prevent  my  looking  out.  I  wanted  an  open 
door  and  plenty  of  ventilation.  To  that  end  I 
had  even  left  a  small  aperture  in  the  roof.  The 
smoke  could  not  be  kept  out,  but  its  effects  could 
be  overcome  in  another  way.  A  way  that  I  knew 
of  was  to  cut  a  pair  of  eye-holes  in  one  of  the  root- 
sacks  and  to  slip  the  latter  over  my  head  and  tie  it 
securely  at  the  neck.  The  parts  covering  my 
mouth  could  then  be  dampened,  and  the  smoke 
drawn  through  such  a  wet  screen  would  be  cleansed 
of  all  injurious  elements.     All  these  preparations 


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The  Flaming  Sea  51 

were  through  with  in  what  seemed  a  short  space 
of  time.  I  thought  that  I  even  had  time  to  look 
about  me  and  study  the  probable  danger  with 
more  dehbcration.  But  at  that  moment  a  dead 
bird  fell  through  the  branches  overhead  and 
dropped  into  the  pool.  I  hastened  to  the  high 
ground  above  the  little  basin  and  found  many 
birds  with  feathers  in  part  burnt  away  and  dying 
of  fright  and  their  wounds. 

''The  scene  was  quite  changed.  The  cloud  in 
the  west  was  now  double,  each  part  a  great  writh- 
ing, stooping,  whirling  monster  of  black  smoke 
and  red  flame.  Now  they  were  widely  separated 
and  now  rushing  madly  together,  apparently 
crossing  over  to  opposite  sides  or  falling  into  each 
other's  arms.  A  moment  later  they  tore  apart 
and  whirled  away.  There  were  two  of  these  giants 
of  smoke  and  flame,  because  the  river  stood  be- 
tween them.  It  held  the  one  on  the  right  for  a 
time,  while  the  one  on  the  left  shot  away  to  ravage 
some  peaceful  meadow  of  waving  grasses.  The 
one  on  the  right  then  turned  his  evil  eye  on  some 
great  gulf  of  towering  reeds  and  bore  down  upon 
them  with  his  hurricane  of  flame.  And  now  each 
monster  stole  softly  to  his  consort's  side.  At 
times,  one  lagged  far  behind,  exploring  the  re- 


52  Tales  of  Kankakee  Land 

cesses  of  some  great  estuary  of  the  grassy  sea. 
And  wherever  the  burning  feet  of  this  Gog  and 
Magog  of  destruction  trod  the  trembling  plain, 
a  flaming  sea  was  left  behind,  whose  billows  rose 
and  fell  with  the  wind,  and  for  days  thereafter 
nothing  might  effectually  lay  the  tempestuous 
dashings  of  this  fiery  flood.  And  what  a  spec- 
tacle was  the  heavens — a  vault  of  burnished  cop- 
per! I  was  scarcely  conscious  that  the  day  was 
gone,  for  darkness  came  not  with  the  night. 

"A  wind-driven  fire  sweeping  through  the  length 
and  breadth  of  the  Kankakee  resembles  in  many 
features  the  dreaded  prairie-fires  of  the  Western 
plains.  But  on  the  plains  when  the  cyclone  of 
flames  has  whirled  away,  there  remains  indeed 
a  glowing  field,  yet  the  ruddy  tints  soon  grow 
dull  and  disappear,  while  in  our  Kankakee  Land — 
as  we  know  fuU  well — the  persistency  of  the  raging 
fires  is  not  the  least  of  their  horrors.  There  are 
two  reasons  why  the  agony  is  here  so  intense  and 
so  prolonged.  After  a  season  of  drought  a  layer 
of  the  spongy  soil,  in  some  parts  of  considerable 
thickness,  becomes  as  dry  as  dust  and  is  highly 
inflammable,  and  it  is  over  such  a  surface  that 
the  fires  long  rage  with  furnace  heat.  Another 
reason  is  found  in  the  exhalations  from  the  deep 


The  Flaming  Sea  58 

and  vast  areas  of  decaying  vegetation.  When 
high  winds  bear  down  on  the  quaking  lands,  great 
volumes  of  these  gases  are  given  off,  and  contribute 
not  a  little  to  the  lurid  glare  of  the  annual  con- 
flagration. Even  in  the  ordinary  marsh-fires,  that 
are  peaceful  enough  and  little  to  be  feared  when 
no  wind  is  blowing,  the  escaping  gases  add  much 
to  the  flames  and  greatly  prolong  them. 

''From  my  position  here  at  the  point  of  the 
island,  the  scene,  while  indeed  appalling,  was  grand 
beyond  the  power  of  words  to  describe.  Although 
the  regions  now  engulfed  in  this  elemental  fury 
were  many  miles  distant  and  the  gale  in  its  onward 
progress  was  often  checked,  or  somewhat  diverted, 
by  the  rising  columns  of  hot  air,  yet  at  times  the 
fires  would  leap  forward  with  terrible  accession  of 
fury.  It  seemed  that  only  a  little  delay  could  be 
hoped  for  ere  they  would  bear  down  upon  the 
place.  Light  ashes  and  charred  bits  of  reed  were 
falling  in  a  continuous  shower,  the  smell  of  smoke 
was  growing  more  and  more  acrid,  and  I  began  to 
experience  the  stifling  efi"ects  of  the  hot  exhala- 
tions from  the  flaming  sea.  I  speedily  donned 
the  tight-fitting  mask  made  from  the  root-sack, 
having  first  dipped  it  in  the  waters  of  the  spring. 
I  then  gathered  up  my  possessions — a  bucket,  a 


54  Tales   of  Kankakee   Land 

teapot,  the  mattock,  and  a  ball  of  stout  cord — and 
having  filled  the  receptacles  at  the  spring,  retired 
to  my  den.  I  was  not  a  little  astonished  to  dis- 
cover that  in  my  brief  absence  the  place  had  been 
seized  by  several  foxes.  However,  they  yielded 
to  my  prior  rights  without  a  whimper  and  sat 
down  just  beyond  the  doorway.  My  coat  spread 
on  a  heap  of  reeds  which  I  had  thrown  in  the  end 
of  the  little  apartment  served  for  a  seat.  Having 
taken  my  place  thereon,  I  glanced  through  the 
entrance  to  see  what  the  foxes  were  doing. 

"  A  very  unwelcome  vision  met  my  eyes.  There 
on  the  farther  side  of  the  pool,  and  near  its  brink, 
three  wolves  sat  on  their  haunches.  At  that  moment 
the  place  was  darkened  by  a  cloud  of  smoke;  in 
the  next,  a  burning  reed  came  trembling  down  from 
above  and  fell  into  the  pool.  But  neither  light 
nor  darkness  could  divert  for  an  instant  the  stony 
gaze  of  those  yellow  eyes  turned  straight  on  me. 
Yet  the  stare,  though  fixed,  was  in  some  degree 
impassive.  It  might  be,  however,  the  composure 
which  came  from  nerves  steadied  down  for  a  leap 
across  the  pool  and  the  bloody  struggle  for  pos- 
session of  my  retreat.  Just  then  a  mass  of  burning 
embers  fell  in  the  high  reeds  in  front  of  the  island. 
They  flared  up  as  though  a  coal  had  dropped  on 


The  Flaming  Sea  55 

a  heap  of  powder.  I  kept  my  eyes  fixed  on  the 
wolves,  and,  reaching  for  the  mattock,  held  it  up 
where  they  could  see  its  smooth  bright  blade. 
Without  so  much  as  a  look  to  the  right  or  to  the 
left,  two  of  the  ugly  visitors  settled  down  on  the 
ground  at  full  length,  while  the  other  still  sat 
upright  between.  Their  action  seemed  to  say, 
"Tis  a  bad  time  for  you  and  ourselves;  let  us  be 
at  peace!' 

"Whence  they  had  come  and  when,  I  did  not 
know:  they  must  have  been  sitting  there  during 
the  most  of  the  work  of  my  preparation.  And 
they  may  have  come  from  some  dry  spot  down 
in  the  midst  of  the  tamaracks.  I  have  seen  wolf 
footprints  in  that  vicinity.  Your  marsh-wolf 
is  a  wise  old  fellow  and  takes  every  careful  pre- 
caution against  danger.  When  I  became  con- 
vinced of  the  good  intentions  of  these  strange  com- 
panions of  mine  at  the  spring,  I  could  not  think  of 
molesting  them.  On  the  contrary,  I  felt  con- 
soled, if  not  flattered,  by  their  presence;  for  their 
coming  meant  that  their  animal  instinct  and  their 
marvellous  cunning  had  guided  them  to  the  spot 
which  I  had  selected  for  my  own  safety.  They 
knew  the  whole  region;  no  better  place  could  be 
found;  I  could  rely  on  their  judgment.     Or,  pos- 


56  Tales  of  Kankakee  Land 

sibly,  they  had  been  watching  me  and  were  relying 
on  mine. 

''At  all  events,  we  understood  each  other  and 
were  at  peace.  I  was  even  bold  enough  a  few 
minutes  later  to  step  up  to  the  high  ground  to 
see  what  had  happened  to  the  reeds.  They  were 
gone,  and  dancing  fires  were  eating  deeper  and 
deeper  as  the  intense  heat  dried  out  the  lower 
parts  of  the  stalks  and  the  surface  earth.  When 
the  falling  embers  had  ignited  the  reeds  near  the 
island,  the  greater  conflagration  in  the  rear  had 
sucked  the  blaze  toward  itself  and  through  all  the 
vegetation  in  front  of  the  island,  accomplishing  at 
a  stroke  what  my  forethought  and  diligence  should 
have  brought  about  before  the  rain  began  to  fall. 

"The  blaze  was  now  running  around  the  entire 
island  and  reaching  up  into  the  dry  grass.  The 
forest  seemed  to  be  on  fire,  but  it  was  only  the 
reflection  from  the  autumn  leaves.  The  dead 
trees  would  go,  but  other  things  on  the  island 
seemed  now  comparatively  safe,  since  the  dense 
growths  in  the  surrounding  marsh  vegetation  were 
being  laid  low  in  advance.  This  clearing  away 
of  the  plain  in  all  the  vicinity  was  a  most  fortunate 
event.  Few  could  experience  its  benefits  and  fail 
to  regard  it  as  a  providential  deliverance.    The 


The  Flaming  Sea  SI 

heat  was  so  intense  that  I  could  not  have  endured 
the  scene  from  my  exposed  station  on  the  high 
ground,  had  not  the  root-sack  covered  my  head. 
Fortunately,  I  could  remain  long  enough  to  wit- 
ness one  of  the  countless  tragedies  of  that  mem- 
orable day.  An  egret  that  had  taken  refuge  in  the 
reeds  not  far  from  the  island  rose  before  the  ap- 
proaching fires,  veered  to  the  right  and  then  to 
the  left  in  uncertain  flight,  a  bird  of  spotless  snow 
all  radiant  against  the  golden  flames.  Bewildered 
and  terrified,  it  strove  to  win  its  way  on  high,  and 
thus  hung  on  fluttering  pinions,  the  very  phoenix 
of  the  marshes.  A  moment  more  the  rolling 
smoke  drew  a  black  curtain  across  the  scene  and 
hurried  me  to  my  covert. 

"  As  I  ran  down,  I  noted  that  a  pair  of  raccoons 
were  settled  near  the  pool,  and  several  other  creat- 
ures were  scurrying  about  at  the  top  of  the  em- 
bankment. They  had  been  driven  in  from  their 
burrows  on  the  sides  of  the  island,  having  been 
smoked  out  or  burned  out.  But  so  blinding  was 
the  heavy,  suffocating  atmosphere  that  I  felt  the 
way  to  my  abode  rather  than  looked  to  see  where 
I  was  going  or  what  new  companions  were 
gathering  to  my  side.  Then  came  one  of  the 
most    frightful   events   of  all  this   direful    expe- 


58  Tales  of  Kankakee  Land 

ricnce.  It  was  an  outcry,  the  terrified's  blood- 
curdling appeal,  that  filled  all  the  plain  and  the 
wood  and  seemed  to  shake  the  foundations  of  the 
solid  isle.  For  a  moment  thereafter  my  palsied 
sense  was  deaf  to  the  roar  of  the  flaming  tempest, 
and  then  every  creature  about  the  pool  gave  voice 
to  the  emotional  shock.  The  wolves  sent  up  a 
prolonged  howl,  the  foxes  barked  in  chorus,  the 
raccoons  whimpered  and  whined,  and  there  was  a 
clattering  babel  in  and  about  the  place  apprising 
me  of  the  fact  that  many  poor  creatures  had  stolen 
near,  unbidden  and  unobserved.  But  of  them  all, 
I  am  sure  that  none  had  ever  before  heard  that 
dreadful  cry.  What  could  it  be?  I  had  almost 
wished  that  a  bear  would  creep  in  from  the  marsh 
and  share  our  asylum.  They  were  sometimes  to 
be  found  floundering  around  among  the  lily-pads 
in  search  of  roots.  What  would  the  wolves  and 
foxes  have  to  say  at  bruin's  approach  ?  But  none 
came,  and  if  any  such  animal  had  been  overtaken 
in  the  marsh,  by  no  possible  exertion  could  its 
deep  guttural  have  mounted  into  that  sonorous 
and  appalling  cry.  Nor  could  the  united  scream 
of  a  hundred  panthers  have  sent  up  that  vibrant 
call  for  mercy.  From  what  breast  could  it  have 
pealed  forth  in  that  place  and  at  that  hour  ?    The 


The  Flaming  Sea  59 

hot  smoke  was  so  galling  to  my  eyes  that  I  kept 
them  closed,  except  to  glance  from  time  to  time 
across  the  pool  or  to  look  about  in  search  of  sparks 
that  were  continually  drifting  in  at  the  door  and 
settling  on  my  clothing.  Indeed,  the  black  smoke 
now  poured  over  us  in  such  a  dense  cloud  as  to 
shut  out  the  light  and  completely  cut  off  vision, 
only  as  an  occasional  lull  or  shifting  of  the  gale 
let  in  the  full  splendor  of  the  flaming  land  and  sky, 
''At  such  a  time  I  looked  down  to  stamp  out  a 
glowing  cinder,  when  I  beheld  a  pair  of  eyes. 
Some  wretched  denizen  of  these  wilds  had  crept 
to  my  very  side.  I  reached  out  and  touched  it 
gently  with  my  foot,  and  I  could  see  that  it  was 
white,  at  least  in  part.  It  made  no  resistance, 
until  suddenly,  with  lightning  celerity,  the  creature 
sprang  on  to  my  knee  and  mounted  to  my  waist 
and  to  my  breast,  and  was  convulsively  snatching 
at  my  clothing,  ere  I  could  grasp  its  soft  fur  in  my 
hands.  A  flash  of  light  came  and  I  saw  that  I 
held  in  my  arms  a  common  domestic  cat!  Mous- 
ing for  field-mice  and  birds  among  the  reeds  had 
brought  her  to  such  a  pass  as  this.  I  was  glad  to 
have  her  with  me,  when  her  nature  and  intentions 
were  understood,  but  I  shall  hope  never  again  to 
make  the  acquaintance  of  a  cat  under  such  cir- 


60  Tales   of  Kankakee  Land 

cumstances.  It  is  impossible  for  me  to  impart 
to  another  any  adequate  conception  of  the  state 
of  my  nerves  during  my  imprisonment  on  the 
island.  So  it  will  be  understood  that  to  have  a  cat 
leap  into  my  arms  gave  me  a  shock  from  which  I 
was  slow  to  recover.  Speaking  of  the  state  of  my 
nerves,  leads  me  to  say  that  by  this  time  my  cloth- 
ing had  been  badly  burned  in  several  places  and 
my  skin  terribly  blistered,  and  yet  I  scarcely  felt 
the  pain,  and  in  no  sense  realized  my  condition. 
My  body  ached — was  full  of  agony — but  I  sup- 
posed it  came  from  the  tension  of  excitement,  the 
stress  of  my  anguish.  The  cat  lay  on  my  breast 
and  shoulder  in  sweet  content.  Such  was  the 
roar  of  the  elements  that  I  could  not  hear  her 
purring,  but  I  could  feel  it.  So  pussy  and  I  had 
a  heart-to-heart  time  of  it  quite  appreciated  by 
both  of  us. 

"  Suddenly,  the  animals  grew  restless.  There 
was  whining  and  whimpering  and  there  were  a  few 
suppressed  growls  and  some  running  about,  while 
hitherto  there  had  been  that  strange  patient  sub- 
missiveness  with  which  the  brute  stoically  endures 
the  severe  ills  of  flesh.  It  was  then  that  the  terrible 
outcry  pealed  forth  again.  It  came  distinctly 
from  a  place  in  the  river  not  far  above  the  angle 


The  Flaming  Sea  61 

at  the  big  bowlder.  Thereafter  we  heard  it  no 
more.  At  the  cry,  the  cat  on  my  breast  rose 
trembling  and  shook  with  fear.  The  roar  of  the 
burning  had  been  steadily  growing  louder  and 
louder,  and  whether  or  not  it  was  a  delusion  of  the 
senses,  it  seemed  now  to  take  on  a  thunderous 
rumble,  like  the  furious  tattoo  of  some  horrible 
war-god.  The  crisis  was  at  hand.  At  this  mo- 
ment I  must  needs  run  to  the  spring  for  a  bucket 
of  water.  I  had  used  every  drop  to  keep  the  root- 
sack  wet,  and  the  stifling  air  was  parching  my 
throat.  The  cat  swung  round  and  clung  to  my 
back.  I  stooped  and  thrust  my  whole  head  into 
the  pool  and  rose  refreshed.  As  I  opened  my 
eyes,  I  saw  the  wolves:  they  moved  not  a  muscle. 
"The  atmosphere  was  the  breath  of  a  volcano. 
I  turned  for  one  deliberate  survey  of  the  burning 
land  and  the  towering  flame.  The  brazen  scin- 
tillations filled  my  eyes  with  tears;  an  acute  pain 
shot  through  my  throbbing  temples,  a  pang  so 
violent  that  I  sank  to  my  knees.  I  rose  to  look 
again,  but  for  me  the  scene  had  vanished,  the 
blinded  sense  could  endure  no  more.  Feeling 
for  the  vessel  of  water,  I  groped  my  way  to  the 
den.  My  swollen  eyelids  found  delicious  re- 
freshment in  the  icy-cold  bath,  and  soon  vision 


62  Tales  of  Kankakee  Land 

returned  again;  but  any  look  beyond  the  narrow 
confines  of  my  abode  filled  my  head  with  pain. 
"Nearer  and  nearer  crept  the  horrible  thrum- 
ming of  the  conflagration.  Suddenly,  a  thick  hail 
of  burning  embers  descended  on  the  island  with  a 
fury  that  seemed  to  sound  the  fate  of  every  living 
thing.  Fortunately,  there  was  not  another  such 
visitation;  for  had  it  been  oft  repeated,  neither 
tree  nor  plant  nor  any  living  thing  could  have 
survived  its  desolating  energy.  Great  tongues 
of  livid  flame  then  shot  through  the  forest-trees 
from  right  to  left  and  were  as  quickly  withdrawn; 
then  from  left  to  right,  but  fled  away.  The 
autumn  foliage  crisped  at  the  touch,  flashed  into 
still  more  brilliant  hues,  and  vanished  in  thin  air. 
The  Gog  and  Magog  of  awful  passion  were  on 
either  side  and  bending  near.  Then,  as  I  could 
plainly  hear  and  faintly  see,  they  began  their  swift 
but  heavy  trampling,  the  one  afar  off  to  distant 
regions  on  the  right  hand,  and  the  other  away  and 
away  to  those  on  the  left.  When  these  monsters 
sped  back  to  join  hands  again,  they  stood  on  the 
river's  brink  a  mile  beyond  this  island's  shore. 
Nor  could  they  take  one  backward  step.  Faint- 
er and  fainter  came  the  sound  of  their  going.  A 
strange  peace  crept  over  the  scene.     The  wind 


The  Flaming  Sea  OS 

was  still  blowing  a  gale ;  there  was  the  crackling  of 
flames  and  the  surging  of  smoky  billows  and  the 
tinkling  of  dead  cinders  falling  everywhere;  but 
I  could  hear  the  cat  purring  on  my  breast,  and  I 
knew  that  my  life  would  be  saved.  I  leaned  back 
against  the  earth-wall  and  fell  asleep  from  sheer 
exhaustion. 

"  When  I  awoke,  my  body  was  full  of  pain  and 
I  could  not  open  my  eyes.  At  my  side  was  a  mut- 
tering and  growling  and  the  sound  of  gnawing 
and  crunching  of  tender  bones.  I  stooped  and 
picked  up  the  cat,  but  she  twisted  and  writhed  to 
escape  my  grasp,  and  there  was  the  smell  of  burnt 
flesh  about  her,  and  I  knew  that  she  had  been 
feasting,  like  a  cannibal,  on  the  body  of  one  of 
our  companions  and  fellow-victims.  I  threw  her 
from  me  in  horror.  There  was  another  sound — 
or  was  I  mistaken?  Was  it  a  sense-delusion  to 
vex  my  worn  spirit?  I  stumbled  through  the 
entrance  and  put  out  my  hand,  and  lo,  it  was  true, 
it  rained!  I  threw  off  the  root-sack  and  knelt 
at  the  pool  and  bathed  my  eyelids  again  and  again, 
until  I  could  force  them  open  to  catch  the  light 
of  day,  for  it  was  morning.  After  a  time  the  use 
of  the  cold  water  and  the  more  vigorous  circula- 
tion of  my  blood  made  it  possible  for  me  to  hold 


64  Tales  of  Kankakee  Land 

open  my  eyes  so  as  to  glance  through  a  narrow 
rift  and  look  about  me.  The  three  wolves  were 
there,  and  their  wild  yellow  eyes  stared  straight 
before  them,  though  not  at  me.  The  two  rac- 
coons were  where  the  reeds  had  been,  and  the 
foxes  were  huddled  in  a  heap.  Several  young 
opossums  and  an  old  one  were  crouched  near 
the  entrance  to  my  cave,  and  rabbits  and  squirrels, 
driven  from  their  retreats,  had  taken  their  last 
stand  here  and  were  scattered  everywhere,  singly 
or  in  twos  and  threes,  in  any  position  or  place  so 
as  to  be  within  the  protecting  walls  of  my  depres- 
sion. 

"It  was  a  strange  siglit,  indeed,  where  com- 
mon perils  had  fixed  a  truce  in  animaldom.  And 
the  truce  was  a  lasting  one  for  them,  since  the 
shafts  of  flame  and  smoke  had  shot  them  through 
and  through,  and  one  and  all  had  succumbed  to 
the  fatal  breath  of  fire.  Now  for  the  first  time  I 
saw  the  cat  distinctly — a  horrible  misshapen  creat- 
ure with  loose-jointed  frame  and  huge  muscles 
unnaturally  developed,  and  with  a  thick  rough 
coat  of  grizzled  gray,  that  replaced  what  had  been 
one  of  black  spots  on  a  snow-white  surface,  and 
with  torn  ears  surmounting  a  swollen  and  brutish 
face.    Such  was  the  cat-monster  that  now  with 


The  Flaming  Sea  65 

ghoulish  eagerness  was  leaping  about  among  the 
dead.  I  seized  a  handful  of  stones  and  drove  the 
hateful  thing  from  the  place.  The  agony  of  the 
hour  had  driven  the  creature  to  my  place  of  safety, 
and,  with  the  instinct  of  the  happier  and  better 
days  in  the  home  of  its  youth,  it  had  leaped  into 
the  arms  of  a  human  being.  Danger  gone  and 
daylight  come  again,  it  had  relapsed  into  the 
savagery  of  its  degenerate  state. 

"While  the  rain  fell,  the  fires  would  be  held  in 
check,  but  the  smouldering  flames  would  burst 
forth  again  when  the  sky  cleared.  So,  with  all 
possible  despatch,  the  timbers  and  other  materials 
for  the  raft  were  dravm  out  of  the  mud  where  they 
had  been  buried  for  safety.  I  bound  the  logs  to- 
gether with  tough  leather- wood  bark,  and,  having 
secured  the  long  pole  and  gathered  up  my  uten- 
sils, I  dragged  the  rude  float  into  the  river.  I 
wet  the  root-sack  and  fastened  it  over  my  head. 
As  I  was  pushing  off,  I  observed  a  white  horse 
up  the  stream  a  few  paces  lying  dead  against 
the  bank.  I  could  not  stop  to  investigate  in  what 
possible  manner  the  animal  could  have  come  into 
the  place.  There  was  a  blue  rift  in  the  clouds 
near  the  horizon.  Should  the  rain  cease,  the 
fires  in  the  peat-banks  of  the  narrow  river  would 


66  Tales  of  Kankakee  Land 

burst  out  afresh,  and  might  suffocate  or  consume 
me. 

"To  my  great  joy  the  drops  continued  to  fall  un- 
til I  had  reached  a  place  where  the  river  widened 
and  its  low,  plashy  margins  contained  no  food  for 
the  flames.  All  in  safety  I  came  to  the  point  where 
The  Black  Feather  had  lifted  his  canoe  from  the 
water.  I  found  old  Poco  there.  He  had  ob- 
served my  approach  and  had  built  a  causeway 
by  throwing  alder  branches  on  the  bog.  The 
waters  near  his  abode — as  he  reminded  me — were 
of  such  a  depth  as  to  present  only  a  scanty  growth 
of  those  reeds  that  were  food  for  the  flames.  It 
was  therefore  possible  for  him  to  cross  the  ford 
within  a  few  hours  after  The  Black  Feather  had 
passed  over.  He  declared  that  he  had  found  the 
bundle  of  ginseng-roots  in  the  woods  by  the  ford 
where  The  Black  Feather's  horse  had  been  tied. 
The  Indian  boy  had  thrown  down  the  heavy 
burden  and  hurried  over  the  trail  on  foot,  having 
found  that  his  horse  had  taken  fright  at  the  near 
approach  of  the  flames  and  had  broken  away. 
Poco  had  observed  that  a  piece  of  the  rawhide 
thong  was  still  attached  to  the  tree.  We  reflected 
for  a  moment  on  these  disclosures  of  the  half-breed, 
and  then  both  of  us  turned  to  look  for  the  canoe 


Tlie  Flaming  Sea  67 

which  The  Black  Feather  had  hidden  in  the  alders. 
It  was  gone!  We  stared  at  each  other  without  a 
word,  struck  dumb  by  consternation  and  dismay. 
Where  was  the  Indian  boy? 

"  As  we  started  to  walk  away  through  the  woods, 
I  began  to  experience  an  excruciating  pain  in  my 
feet.  I  then  discovered  that  my  shoes  were  badly 
burnt  and  were  falling  to  pieces.  I  removed  them 
and  found  my  feet  covered  with  blisters.  It  was 
impossible  for  me  to  walk,  except  with  great  suf- 
fering. Poco  therefore  took  me  on  his  back  and 
bore  me  to  a  spot  on  the  high  ground  where  the 
flames  had  not  been  felt.  I  stretched  out  on  the 
cool  grass  and  breathed  a  sigh  of  sweet  relief. 
But  immediately  a  thousand  thoughts  filled  with 
fresh  alarm  began  to  rack  my  brain.  INIy  new 
companion  and  benefactor  gave  me  a  curious 
look  and  bade  me  lie  very  quietly,  while  he  went 
in  search  of  a  horse.  I  remember  that  he  started 
away  on  a  run  and  that  something  roused  the 
feeling  within  me  that  I  very  much  needed  his 
help  and  that  he  was  deserting  me.  Three  days 
later  I  roused  to  consciousness  and  slowly  brought 
myself  to  understand  that  I  was  lying  on  a  couch 
in  Poco's  lodge.  The  half-breed's  wife  was  bend- 
ing  over    me  and  applying   a   cooling   ointment 


68  Tales  of  Kankakee  Land 

to  my  wounds.  She  was  talking  to  her  daughter, 
and  then  I  knew  where  I  was;  for  I  remembered 
their  voices  and,  also,  I  recognized  the  smell  of 
the  sumach  and  willow  leaves  in  Poco's  pipe.  But 
I  could  see  nothing,  since  my  eyes  were  swathed 
with  soft  bandages.  Wounds  from  burning  are 
ugly  ones  and  they  heal  slowly;  mine  were  no 
exception  to  such  a  rule.  I  recovered,  however,  in 
time,  and  my  nervous  system  regained  its  healthy 
tone.  But  the  restoration  of  my  eyesight  was  a 
most  delicate  piece  of  work.  It  bade  fair,  I 
thought,  to  be  a  hopeless  struggle.  The  triumph 
eventually  was  due  solely  to  the  skill  and  the 
patience  of  my  rude  Indian  nurse,  who  was  a 
woman  of  much  plain  wisdom  and  of  great  good- 
ness of  heart. 

"  The  Black  Feather's  name,  I  was  told, was  often 
on  my  lips  during  the  hours  of  my  unconsciousness, 
and  thoughts  of  him  and  his  fate  were  ever  present 
in  my  mind  through  the  period  of  convalescence. 
I  felt  sure  that  he  had  crossed  the  ford  and  found 
his  horse  gone  and  had  then  hurried  over  the  trail. 
Someone  removed  the  canoe.  Had  he  taken  it 
and  pushed  toward  the  island  in  the  hope  of  res- 
cuing me?  Was  he  too  late?  and  did  he  per- 
ish miserably,  overwhelmed  by  the  sea  of  flame? 


The  Flaming  Sea  69 

These  questions  have  never  been  ansv^ered.  Al- 
though Poco  went  again  and  again  to  search  the 
place  for  any  tell-tale  bit  of  evidence,  neither  he 
nor  any  man  has  discovered  the  facts  which  should 
set  forth  beyond  pcradventure  the  fate  of  The 
Black  Feather.  The  secret  of  his  taking  off  is  one 
of  those  mysteries  that  so  commonly,  and  often 
so  sorrowfully,  mark  the  affairs  of  the  great  Kan- 
kakee Land. 

"I  am  convinced  that  the  terrible  outcry  heard 
twice  when  the  flames  were  near  at  hand  must 
be  charged  to  the  white  horse  whose  carcass  was 
seen  on  the  river-bank  when  I  was  making  my 
escape.  Such  was  the  opinion  of  Poco  and  his 
wife.  The  cry  is  seldom  heard,  and  is  uttered 
only  in  a  moment  of  great  fear,  when  some  awful 
and  impending  danger  forces  itself  on  the  intel- 
ligence of  the  animal.  The  half-breed's  family 
assured  me  that  under  such  circumstances  the 
voice  of  the  horse  is  the  most  appalling  cry  in  all 
nature.  They  also  stated  that  the  animal  some- 
times acquires  a  strong  liking  for  certain  sweet 
grasses  that  grow  only  in  the  water,  and,  going  in 
search  of  them,  will  flounder  about  in  the  mud 
and  ooze  far  from  land.  Should  a  firm  footing 
be  found,  he  remains  there,  afraid  to  return.     At 


70  Tales  of  Kankakee  Land 

last,  a  step  farther  plunges  him  into  a  region  of 
boiling  springs,  or  he  may  be  drowned  in  some 
sudden  rise  of  the  waters.  The  anatomy  of  the 
horse  in  old  geological  ages  shows  that  the  animal 
once  found  in  the  bogs  and  swamps  the  most  con- 
genial conditions  of  its  life,  and  this  keen  relish 
for  the  sweet  grasses  may  be  nothing  less  than  a 
survival  of  the  ancestral  appetite,  whose  gratifi- 
cation demands  a  return  to  the  habits  of  the  horse 
primeval.  The  voice,  too — is  it  the  survival  of 
powers  developed  through  fierce  encounters  with 
the  monsters  of  the  ancient  world  ?  " 


V 


WILD    HONEY 


Honey  has  been  mentioned  as  one  of  the  arti- 
cles of  merchandise  which  my  father  gathered 
with  such  care  in  preparation  for  the  annual  ex- 
pedition to  the  East.  To  one  at  all  intimate  with 
the  conditions  of  primitive  times  in  this-  part  of 
the  world,  it  seems  strange  that  the  later  historian 
should  so  often  ignore  this  important  resource  of 
the  pioneer — the  vast  accumulations  of  wild  honey 
sealed  up  in  the  forest-trees.  To  this  day  it  re- 
mains— especially  in  Kankakee  Land — the  most 
delicious  of  all  the  tributes  that  man  may  exact 
from  the  forest -regions  that  lie  contiguous  to  the 
Great  Lakes. 

We  are  not  surprised  that  James  Fcnimore 
Cooper  should  have  found  not  far  beyond  the 
borders  of  the  Kankakee  the  actual  personage 
whose  interesting  skill  suggested  that  famous 
character,  the  bee-hunter,  so  unique  and  so  strik- 
ing in  the  fiction  of  the  renowned  novelist.    For, 

71 


72  Tales  of  Kankakee  Land 

it  may  be  said,  this  was  par  excellence  the  land 
of  the  wild  bee — not  only  because  it  was  the  land 
of  sweet  gums  and  sugary  saps,  the  land  of  violets 
and  daisies,  of  blackberries  and  May-apples,  of 
golden-rod  and  clover,  of  the  grape,  the  plum,  the 
black  haw  and  the  wild  cherry;  but  also  because 
of  the  varied  character  of  the  country.  The  cool 
depths  of  the  big  timber-lands,  the  rich  grasses  of 
the  oak  openings,  the  heavy  turf  of  the  rolling 
prairie,  followed  each  other  with  an  uninterrupted 
succession  of  buds  and  blossoms;  and  to  these 
offerings  were  added,  in  this  fair  domain,  a  million 
acres  of  lilies  and  flags  and  pickerel  plants  lining 
the  water-courses,  or  basking  in  all  the  sunshine 
of  the  Kankakee,  or  circling  the  little  lakes  that  lie 
beyond  the  hills.  These  conditions  spread  for  the 
bees  a  feast  that  offered  the  first  nectar  sippings 
while  the  snows  were  on  the  hillside,  and  that  con- 
tinued to  proffer  the  sweetness  in  their  tinted  cups 
until  most  of  the  autumn  leaves  had  left  the  bough. 
This  uninterrupted  supply  of  flowers  and  fruits 
rewarded  diligence  with  perpetual  opportunity. 
Therefore,  this  is  the  land  of  the  thrifty  hive. 

A  cooper  kept  my  father  supplied  with  casks 
and  stout  boxes,  in  which  the  honey,  when  re- 
ceived, was  carefully  laid  away  and  sealed  tightly 


Wild  Honey  73 

with  wax.  Several  local  characters  were  known 
as  bee-hunters,  but  most  of  our  stock  was  pur- 
chased from  Doctor  Sandy.  The  latter's  success 
in  gathering  these  rich  stores  of  liquid  sweetness 
was  due  both  to  his  own  habits  of  keen  observation 
while  collecting  his  roots  and  herbs,  and  in  a  still 
greater  degree  to  the  sharp  eyes  of  several  Indian 
women  who  were  employed  to  mark  the  trees  for 
him.  When  a  bee-tree  was  found,  it  was  custom- 
ary for  the  finder  to  cut  away  the  bark  and  write 
his  name  or  initials,  or  make  his  mark,  on  the 
white  wood.  The  contents  of  the  bee -tree  were 
then  his  property,  and  it  had  always  been  the  strict 
law  of  the  border  that  no  man  might  then  gainsay 
the  right  thus  acquired,  or  in  any  way  interfere 
with  the  title.  But  while  it  was  easy  enough  to 
put  your  mark  on  any  of  these  living  beehives,  it 
was  often  very  difficult  to  find  one  when  you  were 
looking  for  it.  In  those  days  the  bee-hunters  were 
so  few  in  number,  compared  with  the  vast  range 
of  the  undisturbed  forest,  that  a  bee-tree  quite 
generally  stood  unnoticed  for  many  years,  and 
when  found  was  apt  to  contain  enormous  accu- 
mulations of  honey.  After  a  day  spent  in  felling 
the  trees  and  gathering  the  contents,  it  was  not 
an  unusual  occurrence  for  the  bee-hunter's  wagon 


74  Tales  of  Kankakee  Land 

to  come  home  with  three  or  four  barrels  filled  to 
the  brims.  Sometimes  an  aged  tree,  when  it  came 
down,  would  break  asunder,  and  a  fountain  of  the 
precious  contents  pour  out  on  the  grass.  A  por- 
tion of  this  flood  could  be  caught  or  recovered. 
It  was  placed  in  a  separate  vessel,  and  when  they 
reached  home  a  quantity  of  water  was  added. 
Most  of  the  foreign  matter  would  then  rise  to  the 
surface  so  that  it  could  easily  be  removed.  The 
honey  was  still  farther  cleansed  by  boiling  and 
straining  through  flannel.  It  was  then  boiled 
again  until  slightly  thickened.  In  this  manner 
the  good  housewives  of  the  neighborhood  had 
discovered  that  "cooked,"  or  boiled,  honey,  pos- 
sessed a  relish  of  rare  delight,  a  refined  joy,  such 
as  the  experienced  palate  might  know  but  the 
human  tongue  could  never  express.  Quite  beyond 
the  dream  of  any  epicure,  for  example,  is  that 
famous  dish  where  the  edgy  tartness  of  cranberry 
sauce  is  smothered  in  boiled  honey — so  those  old- 
time  people  will  yet  freely  maintain. 

To  find  a  bee -tree,  the  hunter,  some  day  in  early 
fall,  waited  until  the  sun's  rays  had  warmed  the 
dead  leaves  on  the  ground  and  had  filled  with  a 
mellow  haze  the  high  arched  avenues  of  the  deep 
wood.     He  then  began  to  set  out  the  bee-bait  in 


Wild  Honey  75 

some  convenient  place  on  the  border  of  the  wooded 
land,  or  where  the  widest  patch  of  sunshine  spread 
itself  on  the  forest -floor.  The  bait  consisted  of 
a  few  drops  of  maple-syrup,  or  any  other  sweet 
substance,  diluted  with  water  and  held  in  a  cup,  or 
scattered  over  a  clean  chip,  or  dropped  on  a  piece 
of  paper.  To  make  sure  of  the  prompt  attention 
of  the  bees,  the  knowing  ones  would  fix  a  piece  of 
honey-comb  on  the  end  of  a  cedar-splint  which 
was  set  on  fire.  By  these  means  the  air  was  loaded 
with  an  incense  sweet  and  aromatic — a  lure  very 
seductive  to  insect-life. 

!15ut  Doctor  Sandy  knew  of  an  artifice  still  more 
potent.  It  was  a  compound  whose  ingredients  and 
their  nice  proportions  he  was  accustomed  to  dwell 
upon  in  a  very  particular  manner.  "Oil  of  anise, 
twenty  parts" — he  would  say  with  eyes  half -shut 
and  then  wide  open — "Citronella,  thirty  parts; 
rosemary,  ten  parts;  lavender,  five  parts;  mix 
well.  Place  only  a  drop  of  the  compound  on  the 
outside  of  the  cup;  fill  the  cup  with  honey  and 
water,  one  half  each."  The  Doctor's  method  of 
procedure  was  indeed  very  effective;  for  if  there 
was  a  bee  within  a  radius  of  a  half-mile,  it  rose  on 
wing  to  find  the  cup.  How  marvellous  the  subtile 
emanation  that  could  work  its  strange  spell  through- 


76  Tales  of  Kankakee  Land 

out  so  vast  a  sphere!  and  how  refined — almost 
spiritual — the  sense  that  could  know  such  a  charm 
and  answer  with  responsive  thrill!  A  common 
house-fly  or  a  big  blue-bottle  fellow  or  a  colony 
of  ants  might  be  the  first  to  attack  the  sweetened 
water,  and  then  a  wasp  would  hover  about.  But 
soon,  or  it  might  be  later,  a  real  honey-bee,  one 
and  then  another  and  another,  would  drop  from 
above,  and  all  hasten  to  feast  themselves  at  this 
banquet  laid  for  them.  The  next  was  the  critical 
moment,  as  the  bee  rose  to  fly  away  home.  With 
plainly  apparent  effort  it  struggled  up  a  few  feet, 
and  then  circling  about  for  its  bearings  darted 
away  along  the  traditional  bee-line,  whose  direct 
and  unerring  course  was  the  shortest  distance  to 
the  hollow  tree-trunk  where  the  accumulated  prod- 
ucts of  prolonged  toil  were  securely  concealed. 

To  note  most  carefully  that  line  of  flight  and  to 
follow  where  it  might  lead,  was  the  nice  task  of 
the  hunter,  the  cunningest  of  all  the  arts  that 
woodcraft  may  show.  It  might  be  that  the 
hunter  could  run  but  a  little  way  without  fearing 
that  he  had  turned  aside  from  the  trail;  but,  if  so, 
he  had  but  to  stand  and  wait,  assured  that  others 
hastening  to  the  same  hive  would  soon  mark 
anew  by  their  flight  the  lost  line  of  direction.     In 


Wild  Honey  77 

this  way,  holding  to  a  straightforward  course,  in 
time  his  practised  eye  would  discern  the  aged  tree 
where  a  hazy  cloud  of  the  honey-makers  revolved 
perpetually  before  some  knot-hole,  the  open  door 
to  the  hive. 

One  day  Doctor  Sandy  and  I  were  returning 
home  along  the  Pottowattomie  trail.  We  had 
spent  the  morning  and  a  part  of  the  afternoon  at 
a  certain  huckleberry-patch  where  the  berries  were 
always  large  and  fine,  and  each  of  us  had  brought 
away  a  full  basket.  We  stopped  to  rest  at  a  point 
where  the  path  approached  very  near  to  the  marsh. 
Stepping  aside  into  the  woods  a  few  paces,  we  came 
to  the  top  of  one  of  those  sand-knobs  that  here 
and  there  rise  boldly  from  the  edge  of  the  bog- 
land.  We  sat  down  on  a  log  where  we  could 
enjoy  a  good  breeze  and  at  the  same  time  take 
in  a  wide  view  of  the  Kankakee.  Far  off  in  the 
marsh  lay  a  small  island  with  a  few  large  trees  and 
an  area  of  pawpaw  shrubs.  The  Doctor  smiled, 
as  he  began  to  recount  his  experience  in  that  place 
years  before.  In  those  days  he  had  observed  that 
whenever  he  had  set  out  his  bee-bait  along  this 
part  of  the  trail,  the  bees  would  invariably  rise  and 
strike  across  the  marsh  in  the  direction  of  this 
particular  island.    The  latter  was  too  far  away 


78  Tales  of  Kankakee  Land 

for  him  to  know  that  the  bees  actually  stopped 
there,  and  the  approach  was  of  such  a  nature  as 
to  make  it  extremely  difficult  to  reach  the  place. 
The  bog  was  of  just  that  consistency  that  will  not 
support  the  human  foot,  and  yet  was  so  dense 
with  matted  vegetation  and  loose  soil  that  no  one 
could  urge  a  boat  through  the  mass.  The  Doctor 
had  been  foiled  several  times  in  the  attempt  to 
reach  the  island,  until  one  day,  stopping  on  this 
very  sand-knob  to  rest  and  enjoy  its  elevated  view 
of  the  region,  he  chanced  to  observe  a  she- wolf 
not  far  away  parting  the  reeds  at  the  margin  of 
the  wet  land.  With  now  and  then  a  little  leap 
or  hop,  it  worked  its  way  by  a  zigzag  course  far  out 
into  the  marsh  and  toward  the  island,  apparently 
walking  in  the  water  without  difficulty.  He  had 
not  previously  thought  to  notice  that  a  narrow 
belt  of  pickerel  plants,  arrow  leaves,  and  lizard 
tongues — that  seldom  grow  well  except  in  shallow 
water — extended  as  far  as  he  could  distinguish 
them,  and  he  thought  to  the  island  itself.  The 
wolf  was  making  her  way  where  they  grew. 

Doctor  Sandy  felt  inclined  to  try  the  place  and 
see  whether  there  was  not  a  path  there  which  he 
himself  could  traverse  in  safety.  But  he  had  no 
gun  with  him,  and  he  feared  that  the  wolf's  den 


Wild  Honey  79 

was  in  the  island.  If  her  young  were  there,  an 
encounter  with  the  excited  and  angry  dam  would 
call  for  arms.  However,  he  came  another  day 
in  company  with  an  Indian,  this  time  fully  pre- 
pared to  investigate  the  wolf's  path  and  to  secure 
the  honey,  if  his  surmise  concerning  the  location 
of  the  bee -tree  should  prove  correct.  He  found 
that  shallow  water  covered  a  firm  ridge  of  sand 
and  gravel,  affording  safe  and  easy  passage  by  a 
meandering  line,  whose  location  could  be  deter- 
mined quite  readily  by  a  slight  variation  in  the 
color,  or  tint,  of  the  vegetation.  The  path  was 
also  marked  by  the  evidences  of  its  having  been 
much  used,  and  recently  by  some  animal  that 
might  have  been  a  cow,  judging  from  the  deep 
impression  made  in  the  vegetation.  Most  of 
these  matters  were  cleared  up  as  soon  as  Doctor 
Sandy  and  his  companion  had  set  foot  on  the 
island.  As  for  the  honey,  the  smell  of  it  was  in 
the  air ;  and  the  bee-tree  itself,  or  what  was  left  of 
it,  was  in  plain  sight. 

But  they  had  come  a  day  too  late.  Another  hunter 
had  discovered  the  rich  stores  and  had  knocked 
off  patches  of  the  dead  bark,  and  although  he  had 
not  written  his  name,  he  had  plainly  left  his  mark. 
In  fact,  the  one  that  had  profited  by  the  Doctor's 


80  Tales  of  Kankakee  Land 

delay  was  even  then  at  hand  and  busily  at  work. 
The  tree  containing  the  hive  was  an  old  one,  now 
dead,  and,  indeed,  so  far  gone  in  decay  that  a 
strong  wind  had  broken  o£E  the  top  part.  The 
trunk  had  given  way  in  just  the  place  where  the 
hive  was  located,  so  that  a  portion  of  the  honey 
had  come  down  to  the  ground.  A  little  black  bear 
had  followed  his  nose  all  the  way  from  the  main- 
land and  had  at  once  entered  his  claim  to  the 
contents  of  the  tree.  The  bear  had  found  the 
bees  actively  engaged  in  transporting  to  a  place 
of  safety  the  precious  treasure  now  so  rudely  ex- 
posed to  the  weather.  He  had  evidently  lost  no 
time  in  making  up  his  mind  to  assist  them,  and 
thereupon  had  devoured  the  portion  that  had 
fallen  to  the  ground  with  the  upper  part  of  the 
tree.  He  had  then  climbed  the  stump  and  dived 
in  at  the  top.  Only  a  little  of  that  part  of  the  bear 
that  had  gone  in  last  was  visible  when  Doctor 
Sandy  and  the  Indian  arrived. 

They  soon  saw  that  it  was  a  half-grown  cub 
that  had  robbed  the  bees'  nest.  The  little  fellow 
was  so  absorbed  in  his  feasting  that  he  had  failed 
to  observe  their  approach.  And  in  truth,  when 
he  had  worked  himself  up  out  of  the  hive  in  re- 
sponse to  their  heavy  pounding  on  the  tree-trunk, 


Wild  Honey  81 

he  was  not  in  any  condition  to  see,  or  even  hear, 
what  was  going  on.  His  head  was  so  completely 
plastered  over  with  honey  and  dead  wood  and 
bark  and  even  grass  and  leaves,  that  his  eyes  were 
sealed  shut  and  his  ears  quite  effectually  stopped ; 
nor  could  the  vigorous  use  of  his  paws  at  once 
relieve  him  of  blindness  and  deafness.  The 
Indian  continued  to  pound  on  the  tree-trunk, 
begging  that  the  bear  should  not  be  shot;  and  the 
latter,  notwithstanding  the  bad  mix-up  in  its 
affairs,  began  to  descend  tail  first — if  anything 
without  a  tail  could  be  said  to  come  down  in 
that  way. 

The  Indian  drew  his  hunting-knife.  With  such 
a  weapon  his  fathers  had  met  Bruin,  and  he 
would  follow  their  example.  It  was  an  easy  task, 
and  yet  it  required  a  well -delivered  blow.  When 
the  animal,  growling  and  whining,  had  descended 
to  a  point  within  easy  reach,  the  blade  was  driven 
home  to  the  hilt.  The  bear,  clutching  at  the 
weapon,  lost  its  hold  and  rolled  over  on  the  grass, 
but  could  not  rise  again.  Had  it  not  been  for  its 
blindness,  it  doubtless  would  have  dropped  to  the 
ground  before  coming  within  reach  of  the  Indian's 
knife;  the  latter  might  then  have  had  a  very  dif- 
ferent  task.     But,  as  the   event   transpired,   the 


82  Tales  of  Kankakee  Land 

bear  was  not  hard  to  deal  with,  and  quickly  lay 
still  in  death. 

"It  was  a  strange  sight,"  said  Doctor  Sandy, 
''for  surely  no  stickier  little  cub  ever  turned  its 
toes  in  air! "  They  divided  the  bear-meat  between 
them  and  left  the  bees  to  do  what  they  could  with 
such  of  the  honey  as  might  still  remain  in  the 
ruined  hive.  Before  leaving  the  place  the  Indian 
discovered  that  the  footsteps  of  the  wolf  led  across 
the  island  and  in  the  direction  of  a  big  sycamore 
that  rose  from  a  little  knoll  in  the  marsh  far 
beyond. 


VI 

PE-ASH-A-WAY   THE  IVUAMI 

When  I  was  old  enough  to  handle  a  gun,  I 
sometimes  went  down  the  Pottowattomie  trail  to 
their  village.  Even  more  delightful  than  the 
subsequent  pleasures  of  the  hunt  was  the  study 
of  the  old  Indian  landmarks  to  be  seen  along  the 
way.  One  could  not  easily  forget  the  peculiar 
features  of  this  old  trail,  its  bright  vistas,  its  weird 
shades,  and  its  charmed  atmosphere — especially 
if  he  had  followed  its  winding  course  a  few  miles 
in  company  with  Doctor  Sandy.  Much  food  for 
thought  was  to  be  found  in  the  latter's  pleasant 
discourse  concerning  the  stirring  scenes  of  the  old 
life — the  stories  and  traditions,  one  or  more  of 
which  each  turn  in  the  way  was  sure  to  call  to 
mind. 

This  Pottowattomie  trail  coming  up  from  the 
Illinois  country  and  skirting  the  entire  marsh  re- 
gion, passed  over  to  the  St.  Joseph  and  was  merged 
with  the  great  Sauk  trail.     Throughout  its  course 

83 


84  Tales  of  Kankakee  Land 

it  was  an  Indian  path,  with  all  the  features  that  the 
term  might  indicate.  It  never  crossed  over  a  hill 
which  it  might  go  around;  it  crept  through  the 
hollows,  avoiding,  however,  with  greatest  care, 
those  conditions  in  which  a  moccason  could  not  be 
kept  dry  and  clean ;  it  clung  to  the  shadows  of  the 
big  timber-belts,  and  when  an  arm  of  the  prairie 
intervened,  sought  to  traverse  such  a  place  of 
possible  danger  by  the  route  which  was  shortest 
and  least  exposed.  At  every  step  the  ancient  path 
tells  the  story  of  wilderness  fears.  Yet  the  pre- 
cincts of  this  venerable  avenue  of  the  old  life  had 
also  their  own  peculiar  delights.  A  warm  and 
sheltered  path  in  the  winter-time,  its  fragrant  airs 
were  cool  and  soft  in  the  summer  days.  All  the 
woodland  flowers  crowded  to  its  margin,  the  blue 
violets  and  the  white  ones,  yellow  honeysuckles, 
the  fringed  gentian,  the  roses,  the  ox-eyed  daisies — 
and,  where  the  shades  were  damp  and  dark, 
yellow  ladies' -slippers  and  purple  ones.  When  the 
heavy  foliage  above  parted  wide  to  let  the  sun- 
beams fall  on  some  gentle  slope,  there  was  the 
strawberry -bank  all  white  with  promise,  or  glowing 
with  the  ruby  red  of  its  luscious  sweets,  or  throwing 
abroad  the  tender  leaves  of  its  pink  stoles  to  make 
sure  the  feast  of  coming  days.     The  birds  loved  the 


Pe-ash-a-way  the  Miami  85 

red  man's  path,  stationed  their  homes  in  the 
thickets  that  bordered  its  course,  sang  their  morn- 
ing songs  beneath  those  rifts  where  the  blue  sky 
looked  down,  and  there,  while  the  twilight  lingered, 
warbled  their  evening  hymns. 

And,  then,  to  the  Pottowattomie  this,  above  all 
others,  was  the  ancient  highway  of  his  people.  All 
the  pageant  of  their  life  was  there  in  the  spring- 
time and  in  the  moon  of  Falling  Leaves.  Along 
its  course  he  saw  the  war -parties  filing  away  to 
fmd  the  enemy  in  distant  lands  and  among  strange 
peoples — the  Kanzas  on  their  wide  plain,  the 
Osages  by  their  river,  the  wise  Omahas,  the  lordly 
Mandans,  the  fierce  Arickarees.  And  when  the 
forest-walls  of  the  old  path  were  aflame  with  au- 
tumn's glory,  he  heard  them  re-echo  the  exultant 
cry  of  the  returning  band,  saw  the  unhappy  cap- 
tives schooling  their  hearts  to  a  stoic's  calm,  or 
following  with  proud  disdain  in  the  footsteps  of 
their  conquerors,  or  nursing  thoughts  of  grim 
vengeance  by  glaring  scowls  and  muttcrings  vain. 
At  such  an  hour  the  Pottowattomie,  standing  by 
the  path  of  his  fathers,  rejoiced  to  know  that  the 
name  of  his  people  was  terrible  in  the  land  of  the 
enemy.  When  these  scenes  were  over,  the  old 
men  loved  to  wander  along  this  path  and  rehearse 


86  Tales  of  Kankakee  Land 

the  stories  of  the  past,  and  tell  of  the  times  when 
they  with  their  people  in  tumultuous  throng  hurried 
home  from  the  chase.  With  trembling  voice  and 
solemn  gesture  they  pointed  out  the  spot  where  a 
chief  with  warriors  brave  once  fell  victims  to 
the  deadly  ambush;  or,  this  was  the  tree  where 
the  children  had  been  lured  to  their  death  by  the 
mocking  wail  of  a  panther;  or,  in  that  place  the 
Great  Spirit  with  a  countenance  of  light  had 
spoken  to  his  children  in  a  voice  of  thunder.  Thus 
on  the  old  path  they  told  off,  as  on  a  rosary,  the 
sacred  traditions  of  their  people. 

When  I  went  down  this  Pottowattomie  trail 
for  a  hunt  in  those  boyhood  days,  one  of  the 
Indian  boys  at  the  village  would  take  me  in  his 
canoe  to  the  south  side  of  the  marsh.  The  latter 
was  narrow  at  this  point  and  covered  with  a  good 
depth  of  water  from  side  to  side.  Ordinarily  it 
was  possible  to  find  a  great  many  prairie-hens 
around  the  hills  on  the  south  side  of  the  marsh, 
especially  during  those  seasons  of  the  year  when 
the  birds  had  deserted  the  rolling  grassy  plains 
coming  down  to  the  Kankakee  from  the  north. 
On  one  occasion,  as  our  canoe  ran  up  to  the  shore 
on  the  south  side,  we  observed  Pe-ash-a-way,  a 
Miami  Indian,  standing  at  the  summit  of  a  sand- 


Pc-ash-a-rvai)  the  Miami  87 

knob,  or  bluff,  that  juts  out  boldly  near  this  place, 
with  the  marsh  sweeping  quite  to  its  base. 

I  knew  him  well,  for  his  home  was  on  the  St. 
Joseph,  and  not  so  far  from  a  farm  which  my  father 
owned.  Pe-ash-a-way  often  came  to  trade  at  our 
store,  where  he  was  quite  willing  to  linger  over  one 
or  more  pipefuls  of  tobacco ;  and  at  such  times  we 
had  found  him  a  man  of  intelligence  and  more 
communicative  than  most  Indians.  On  this 
occasion,  his  superb  physique,  outlined  against 
the  scrub-cedar  that  everywhere  overtopped  the 
sand-bluff,  made  him  for  a  moment  a  perfect 
picture  of  the  ideal  red  man  taking  a  last  farewell 
of  the  land  of  his  fathers.  His  attitude  was,  in  real- 
ity, an  invitation  for  us  to  join  him.  But  we  were 
bent  on  other  diversions,  and  so  went  on  our  way. 

When  we  returned  to  the  canoe,  however,  some 
hours  later,  finding  that  the  Miami  had  not  left 
the  sand -bluff,  we  climbed  to  his  side  and  showed 
him  the  game  we  had  taken.  In  return  he  told 
us  why  he  had  remained  so  long  in  this  place, 
stating  that  the  graves  of  some  of  his  people  were 
in  the  side  of  the  hill,  and  that  on  this  account  he 
sometimes  visited  the  spot.  He  pointed  out  the 
burial-place  of  his  grandfather — whose  name  was 
Petapsco — and  then  showed  us  the  evidences  of  an 


88  Tales  of  Kankakee  Land 

old  encampment  on  the  bluff.  During  his  boyhood, 
it  had  been  the  custom  of  two  or  three  Miami  fam- 
ilies, his  own  among  them,  to  come  here  from 
their  home  on  the  Wabash  and  encamp  for  ihe 
winter  among  the  cedars.  One  winter  could  never 
be  forgotten,  because  it  was  a  year  of  famine.  A 
prolonged  and  unbroken  drought  during  the 
summer  had  been  followed  by  very  early  and  severe 
frosts  in  the  fall,  so  that  the  ordinary  resources  to 
which  man  and  beast  looked  for  support  were 
almost  completely  withdrawn.  The  corn  was 
withered  and  dead  before  it  was  half -grown ;  where 
rich  grasses  were  wont  to  clothe  the  earth  in  living 
green  that  even  the  snows  could  not  bleach  out, 
the  ground  was  now  baked  hard  and  cracked,  like 
a  fire-burnt  stone;  and  even  in  the  marshes  the 
wild  rice  was  killed  by  the  frost  before  its  grain 
had  matured.  Therefore,  the  wild  herds  had 
deserted  the  land,  and  the  birds,  too,  had  sought 
other  fields.  The  woods,  the  prairie,  and  the 
marshes  were  still  and  dead.  But  there  were  fish 
in  the  streams  and  lily-roots  in  the  bogs,  and 
so  the  little  Miami  encampment  had  struggled 
through  the  terrible  winter. 

So  far  as  the  question  of  food  is  concerned, 
people  sometimes  write  and  talk  as  though  they 


Pe-ash-a-tvay  the  3Iiami  89 

supposed  that  the  Indian  had  but  to  put  forth 
his  hand  and  appropriate  nature's  bountiful 
supply.  At  certain  times  this  was  indeed  the  case, 
but  the  Indian's  normal  condition  was  one  of 
starvation.  From  infancy  through  life,  he  was  for- 
ever threatened  with  the  curse  of  hunger.  To  suf- 
fer daily  want  for  months,  and  to  be  driven  at  last 
to  subsist  on  such  roots  as  he  could  find  under  the 
snow,  or  to  eat  the  frozen  berries  that  still  hung 
on  the  thorn -trees;  to  see  the  weak  and  tottering 
steps  of  his  friends;  to  look  into  the  gaunt  faces  of 
his  family  and  hear  the  plaintive  cries  of  the  chil- 
dren; to  call  to  memory  many  of  his  people,  both 
the  brave  and  the  fair,  who  in  other  days  had 
perished  from  famine,  such  was  the  inevitable 
experience  of  the  common  Indian  in  all  the  tribes. 
These  ills  were  not  due  solely  to  their  improvi- 
dence, but  largely  to  their  laws  of  hospitality. 
While  any  had  food,  all  had  food.  The  frugal 
were  thus  compelled  to  suffer  from  the  habits  of 
the  reckless.  The  Indian  was  most  generous.  He 
fed  the  hungry  and  clothed  the  naked,  even  when 
the  petitioner  was  his  open  and  avowed  enemy. 
Not  to  do  so  was  with  him  an  inconceivable 
meanness  and  a  violation  of  what  he  esteemed  as 
sacred,  the  laws  of  hospitality. 


90  Tales  of  Kankakee  Land 

But  it  was  often  impossible  to  obtain  food  of 
any  kind.  Dried  venison  would  keep  through 
the  winter,  yet  it  was  not  always  possible  to  accu- 
mulate it  in  great  quantities.  As  long  as  deer  and 
other  animals  were  to  be  taken,  no  pains  were 
spared  to  find  them.  But  it  often  occurred  that 
a  season  unfavorable  to  certain  forms  of  plant- 
life  compelled  the  deer  and  the  wild -fowl  to  desert 
their  old  haunts.  These  conditions  meant  famine 
and  death  for  the  children  of  the  wilderness.  At 
such  times  the  Indian  band  was  compelled  to 
break  up  in  small  parties.  These  wandered  off 
through  the  dreary  woods,  and  the  cold  and  cruel 
winter  found  them  dispersed  through  a  wide  tract 
of  country.  Possibly  they  may  thus  snatch  from 
the  frozen  wilderness  the  occasional  comfort  of  a 
chance  morsel  of  food.  But  some  will  never  raise 
again  their  lodge-poles  in  the  encampment  of 
their  people.  One  says  to  himself  that  he  would 
not  starve  where  any  living  plant  was  growing. 
If  he  could  do  nothing  else  he  would  tear  up  the 
grass-roots  and  eat  them.  Certainly  he  would, 
and  so  did  they.  They  even  gathered  the  frozen 
lichens  from  some  old  tree-trunk,  and,  rubbing 
them  into  a  coarse  meal,  strove  to  cheat  their  use- 
less kettles  with  this  faint  semblance  of  food.    At 


Pe-ash-a-way  the  Miami  91 

such  times  they  tested  the  quahties  of  every  species 
of  plant-hfc,  if  so  be  that  the  Great  Spirit  would 
grant  that  they  might  only  live. 

Thus  the  extremities  of  famine  led  the  Indian 
to  a  knowledge  of  the  properties  of  plants.  He 
knew  what  seeds  and  roots  and  barks  and  buds 
and  leaves  and  tender  shoots  would  ease  the 
hunger-pangs  even  a  little.  It  need  not  then  seem 
strange  that  he  came  to  know  intimately  the 
medicinal  properties  of  plants.  And  what  a  won- 
derful fund  of  knowledge  his  necessities  led  him 
to  acquire!  Your  druggist  will  let  you  read  his 
dispensatory.  Turn  over  its  two  thousand  pages 
and  you  will  discover  that  in  a  large  number  of 
cases  where  mention  is  made  of  an  American  plant 
with  medicinal  qualities,  our  information  con- 
cerning the  same  has  been  derived  from  the 
Indians. 

When  the  white  man  came,  the  aborigines  were 
able  to  tell  him  that  the  common  dandelion  plant 
and  the  leaves  of  our  litde  trillium  and  the  bark 
of  the  wild  cherry  afforded  the  best  of  tonics ;  that 
the  leaves  of  the  common  plantain  would  heal  a 
wound,  and  that  those  of  the  white  lettuce  would 
cure  the  rattlesnake's  bite;  that  blue  gentian 
would  allay  a  fever;  that  pipsissewa  would  some- 


92  Tales  of  Kankakee  Land 

times  cure  rheumatism;  that  thorn-apple  and 
wolf's-bane  and  the  mountain-laurel  yielded  dead- 
ly poisons.  From  his  own  materia  medica  the 
Indian  was  ready  to  prescribe  for  a  long  series  of 
the  white  man's  afflictions  and  his  every-day 
accidents,  his  flesh-wounds,  sprains,  bruises,  dis- 
locations, and  broken  bones.  When  headache 
and  indigestion  and  fever  would  not  yield  to  any 
of  the  common  remedies,  the  Indian  told  the  white 
man  to  take  a  bath  and  showed  him  how ;  showed 
him  how  to  take  a  vapor  bath,  and  then  how  to 
take  care  of  himself  when  the  bath  was  over.  We 
cannot  help  but  feel  toward  the  Indian  a  profound 
respect  when  we  consider  his  materia  medica, 
founded  as  it  was  in  experience  and  reason. 

One  day  in  early  spring,  the  grandfather,  old 
Petapsco,  and  his  little  grandson,  this  man  Pe-ash- 
a-way,  whom  we  met  on  the  hill-top,  determined  to 
do  what  they  could  to  help  the  hunters  gather 
something  for  the  famished  inmates  of  the  lodges. 
The  old  man  could  not  see  very  well  and  the  little 
boy  did  not  know  very  much,  but  by  uniting  their 
powers  they  might  accomplish  something.  Then, 
this  combination  of  old  man  and  boy  was  quite 
in  the  natural  course  of  events,  for  the  Indians 
were  very  careful  to  teach  their  boys  every  trick 


Pe-ash-a-way  the  Miaini  93 

and  device  by  which  success  might  be  achieved 
through  the  hunter's  art.  The  one  would  be  an 
instructor,  the  other  a  pupil;  and  their  friends 
sincerely  hoped  that  they  might  bring  home 
something  to  eat. 

There  was  some  snow  on  the  ground,  lying  here 
and  there.  They  had  not  gone  many  miles  before 
they  found  to  their  great  delight  the  tracks  of  a 
deer  plainly  defined  across  a  little  patch  of  snow. 
At  the  point  where  the  tracks  left  the  snow  there 
had  been  two  tufts  of  dried  grass,  one  on  either 
side  of  the  tracks.  They  stooped  down  and  ex- 
amined the  tracks  very  carefully,  and  then  went 
around  the  patch  of  snow  to  the  point  where  the 
deer  had  stopped  to  take  a  few  hurried  bites  from 
the  tuft  of  grass  on  the  right  side.  The  old  man, 
after  one  or  two  quick  glances  across  the  beautiful 
crystalline  sheet,  turned  to  the  boy  and  almost  in  a 
breath  softly  read  the  record  left  by  that  strange 
printing-press,  a  deer's  hoofs. 

''The  deer  is  a  big  buck,"  said  Petapsco;  "he 
is  old ;  he  is  tired ;  he  is  wounded ;  he  is  lame ;  he 
does  not  see  well  with  his  left  eye;  he  is  near  at 
hand,  and  unless  the  wind  changes,  he  will  soon 
be  ours,  providing  another  does  not  get  him  first." 

The  boy  was  already  enough  of  a  hunter  to 


94  Tales  of  Kankakee  Land 

know  how  the  old  man  had  read  such  a  record. 
The  deer  was  a  buck,  as  could  be  seen  from  the 
shape  and  size  of  the  tracks.  It  was  a  big  one, 
because  of  the  depth  of  the  impression.  The 
animal  was  old,  because  of  the  distance  between 
the  right-hand  tracks  and  those  of  the  left  side. 
The  deer  was  tired,  because  it  had  dragged  its 
feet  slightly  in  the  snow,  although  walking  rapidly. 
It  was  lame,  because  one  impression  was  not  as 
deep  as  the  other  three.  It  was  wounded  about  the 
head,  because  the  boy  picked  up  beside  the  tuft 
where  the  deer  had  cropped  the  grass  three  or  four 
hairs  matted  together  by  a  few  drops  of  half-dried 
blood.  The  deer  did  not  see  well  with  its  left  eye, 
because  it  had  missed  a  tuft  of  grass  on  the  left 
where  it  entered  the  plat  of  snow,  and  also  the 
tuft  on  the  left  where  it  had  gone  off  the  snow. 
It  was  very  near  at  hand,  because  during  the  night 
a  thin  crust  had  frozen  over  the  mud  about  the 
patch  of  snow,  and  this  had  been  broken  by  the 
feet  of  the  deer.  It  was  plain  that  another  hunter 
had  pursued  this  animal.  The  wound  about  the 
head  suggested  wolves.  It  looked  as  though  a 
wolf  had  sprung  on  to  the  neck  of  the  animal  and 
bitten  at  its  tender  antlers,  which  at  this  season 
of  the  year  were  just  growing  and  were  conse- 


Pe-aah-a-way  the  Miami  95 

quently  very  sensitive.  But  wolves  hunt  in  packs, 
and  some  of  the  pack  will  follow  a  wounded  animal 
to  its  death.  Yet  plainly  none  had  come  this  way. 
Were  they  yet  to  follow?  The  man  and  the  boy 
hurried  forward,  glad  that  their  good  fortune  had 
enabled  them  to  cut  in  ahead  of  the  enemies  that 
might  be  pursuing  the  deer. 

They  had  found  the  footprints  near  the  border 
of  an  arm  of  the  marsh,  and  they  now  followed 
them  to  the  end  of  the  arm  and  around  to  the 
other  side.  Here  the  tracks  turned  at  a  right  angle 
into  the  surrounding  woods.  Petapsco  and  the 
boy  followed  the  deer's  footsteps  through  the 
bushes  bordering  the  marsh  and  on  to  the  higher 
ground  in  the  margin  of  the  woods. 

"If  the  wolves  are  coming,  why  do  we  not  hear 
them  howl?"  said  the  boy. 

"The  deer  was  not  wounded  by  a  wolf,"  Pe- 
tapsco replied. 

And  as  the  old  man  spoke,  the  boy,  who  had  been 
looking  backward,  saw  a  movement  in  the  thicket 
on  the  opposite  side  of  the  marsh,  and  a  moment 
later  a  full-grown  and  powerful  panther  leaped  up 
on  a  log  and  stood  motionless,  for  a  long  time, 
scanning  carefully  every  clump  of  bushes  on  the 
margin  of  the  marsh.    It  seemed  motionless  exccj^t 


96  Tales  of  Kankakee  Land 

for  the  very  end  of  its  tail,  which  moved  gently  from 
side  to  side. 

Now  the  animal  started  forward  a  step  on  the 
log,  every  muscle  drawn  up  taut.  It  was  only 
a  false  alarm  —  nothing  but  a  flock  of  snowbirds 
that  rose  in  a  cloud  and  flew  away.  Then  the 
panther  drew  back  into  a  sitting  posture,  yawned 
a  deep  yawn,  threw  out  its  great  red  tongue  to  ad- 
just the  hairs  on  its  upper  lip,  stretched  out  its 
front  paws  on  the  tree-trunk,  distended  its  claws 
to  their  widest  compass,  and  then  scratched  up 
the  loose  bark  on  the  log.  Petapsco's  eyes  were 
too  dim  to  note  all  these  motions,  but  the  boy 
reported  every  movement.  "We  are  safe,"  said 
Petapsco.  "The  panther  yawns  and  stretches 
because  it  has  slept.  If  it  slept  well,  it  is  because 
it  had  a  good  supper  the  evening  before.  So  it  is 
not  very  hungry,  not  hungry  enough  to  attack 
human  beings.  Now  that  it  has  got  along  to  the 
place  where  we  struck  the  deer's  trail,  it  will  see 
our  tracks,  and  then  it  will  keep  back  and  not 
foHow  us  so  closely.  But  when  we  have  killed 
the  deer,  the  panther  may  try  to  get  a  part 
of  it." 

The  panther  had  now  stretched  out  in  the  sun- 
light, as  if  inclined  to  take  a  nap.      So  the  man 


Pe-ash-a-way  the  Miami  97 

and  the  boy  very  'cautiously  slipped  off  into  the 
dark  woods. 

Farther  on,  they  found  the  deer  and  killed  it. 
It  seemed  that  the  deer  had  been  attacked  by  the 
panther  the  day  before  and  had  in  some  way 
succeeded  in  shaking  it  off.  The  panther  had 
seized  the  deer  by  the  left  ear  and  had  horribly 
lacerated  the  skin  over  the  left  eye,  and  these 
wounds  bleeding  profusely  had  closed  the  eye. 
The  work  of  the  panther's  terrible  claw  was  also 
plainly  visible  on  one  of  the  forelegs  of  the  deer. 
The  skin  had  been  torn  into  strips,  laying  bare 
the  tendons.  Petapsco  cut  off  the  head  of  the 
animal  and  left  it  for  the  panther.  The  carcass 
itself  was  slung  on  a  pole,  after  its  hindfeet  and 
forefeet  had  been  tied  together  in  a  bunch.  In 
this  way  they  managed  to  get  home  with  their 
fresh  venison. 


VII 

THE  PITIFUL   QUEST 

In  a  few  Eastern  cities,  fifty  years  ago,  excite- 
ment had  begun  to  run  high  concerning  land 
values  in  the  Northwest.  In  those  days  the  rich 
border  regions  of  the  Kankakee  were  becoming 
well  known,  and  were  considered  a  very  desirable 
species  of  property.  For  some  time  previous  to 
that  date,  it  had  been  a  common  thing  for  a  group 
of  well-dressed  people  from  New  York  to  alight 
from  the  stage,  when  the  latter  had  rumbled  up 
to  the  door  of  the  tavern  in  our  village.  They 
were  speculators  seeking  a  profitable  investment 
in  lands.  Some  of  them  came  for  a  prolonged 
stay,  while  others  stopped  only  for  a  change  of 
horses  and  to  get  a  good  dinner.  But  while  large 
tracts  of  land  were  still  in  the  market,  these  people 
quite  generally  discovered  that  shrewd  investors 
had  long  preceded  them  and  had  secured  the 
choicest  portions  of  this  exceptionally  rich  domain. 

An   enchanting   region,  known   as  The  Great 

98 


The  Pitiful  Quest  99 

Island,  had  found  favor  in  the  sight  of  one  of  these 
early  land -buyers.  The  tract  was  often  the  topic 
of  conversation  at  our  fireside,  for  the  place  was 
well  known  to  all  of  us  and  to  our  friends.  It 
scarcely  deserved  the  name  of  island,  lying  so  near 
the  mainland  as  hardly  to  be  disjointed  therefrom. 
Containing  between  two  hundred  and  three  hun- 
dred acres  of  land,  it  stretched  along  contiguous 
to  several  hundred  more  identical  in  character 
to  that  of  the  island  itself.  One  reason  why  the 
spot  seemed  peculiarly  attractive  was  found  in 
the  fact  that  we  saw  in  it  the  conditions  that  had 
once  prevailed  in  all  the  upland  woods  of  this 
region;  it  had  preserved  the  state  of  the  typical 
Indian  forest  as  observed  by  my  father  and  others 
who  were  the  first  of  our  race  to  make  their  homes 
in  this  solitude. 

As  described  by  these  early  witnesses,  the 
Indian's  forest  in  this  part  of  the  American  wil- 
derness was  like  a  park,  and  the  Htde  prairie  like 
a  lawn.  Such  conditions  were  made  possible 
through  the  instrumentality  of  the  annual  fires. 
When  the  leaves  had  dropped  from  the  boughs 
and  the  heat  of  the  late  summer  and  the  fall  had 
reduced  the  dead  herbage  to  a  condition  of  tinder, 
then  the  flames  stole  up  from  the  marshes,  and  the 


100  Tales  of  Kankakee  Land 

blaze  swept  over  the  land  far  and  near,  creeping 
slowly  through  the  forest,  running  quickly  across 
the  meadows,  and  rushing  wildly  over  the  prairies, 
like  a  mad  hurricane.  The  fallen  branches  were 
thus  consumed,  any  low-hanging  bough  was 
withered  and  scorched  so  that  it  died,  and  the 
tender  saplings  of  a  summer's  growth  were  de- 
stroyed. And  what  was  left  alive  when  these 
waves  of  flame  were  gone?  Only  a  great  tree 
here  and  there.  Those  with  massive  trunks  were 
able  to  survive,  since  they  lifted  their  tender  twigs 
far  up  out  of  harm's  reach.  In  the  spot  where  an 
exceptional  condition  of  moisture  in  some  degree 
exempted  a  young  shoot  from  the  fiercest  rigors  of 
this  baptism  of  fire,  a  new  candidate  now  and  then 
struggled  up  for  recognition  in  the  forest  brother- 
hood. But  this  brotherhood  in  general  consisted 
of  little  more  than  giant  trees  standing  far  apart, 
like  a  straggling  orchard,  lifting  their  lower- 
most branches  forty  or  fifty  feet  from  the  ground 
and  overarching  therewith  stately  avenues  that 
wound  in  every  direction.  Over  a  level  tract, 
one  could  see  any  creature,  such  as  a  fox  or  a  wolf, 
moving  through  the  forest  a  mile  away. 

In  this  manner  the  woods  and  open  tracts  were 
purged  once  a  year  of  every  troublesome  growth. 


The  Pitiful  Quest  101 

And  when  the  spring  rains  began  to  fall,  a  pale 
tint  of  green  shot  over  the  open  landscape  and 
through  the  uttermost  depths  of  the  forest.  In 
a  few  days  a  soft  rich  turf  carpeted  the  plain  and 
wood,  affording  a  scene  of  sylvan  glory  such  as  one 
could  find  in  no  other  land  beneath  the  sky.  The 
atmosphere  of  spring  drifting  through  the  Indian's 
clean,  balmy  woods — how  sweet  to  him  its  breath 
must  have  been ! 

Such  was  this  primitive  forest  of  The  Great 
Island,  where  the  Kankakee  fires,  long  after  they 
were  shut  out  from  the  uplands,  perpetuated  those 
charms  that  once  had  been  the  glory  and  the  com- 
mon heritage  of  all  the  green  woods  and  the  sunny 
plain.  The  first  of  the  land-buyers  to  mark  this 
spot  for  his  own,  was  a  young  man  whose  name 
grew  to  be  almost  a  household  word  in  the  village. 
He  spent  an  entire  summer  as  a  guest  at  the  tavern, 
and  his  face  and  form  and  his  black  horse  were 
familiar  to  all  the  towns-people,  and  to  those  who 
came  and  went  along  the  trails  of  the  Kankakee 
and  the  St.  Joseph,  and  to  the  few  who  dwelt  beside 
the  stage-routes.  If  nothing  else  had  made  this 
man  conspicuous  in  the  life  of  the  village  and  the 
surrounding  country,  he  must  have  been  known 
and  remembered  for  the  power  and  fine  quality 


102  Tales   of  Kankakee   Land 

of  his  rich  baritone  voice.  This  voice  made  its 
presence  felt  in  the  church-service,  and  sometimes 
it  was  heard  in  the  public  school  mingling  with 
the  children's  treble.  But  its  richness  and  power 
were  best  known  to  those  who  met  the  singer  in  the 
paths  of  The  Great  Island  forest  or  on  the  highway 
after  dusk;  for  such  was  the  freedom  and  sim- 
plicity of  life  in  our  quiet  neighborhood  that  all 
who  could  sing  never  hesitated  to  do  so  in  the 
open  air. 

This  young  man  who  rode  along  our  highways 
and  sang  his  way  into  the  hearts  of  the  peopljs, 
talked  with  many  concerning  the  delights  of  The 
Great  Island,  really  desiring  to  make  his  home 
there.  It  was  known,  too,  that  he  possessed 
abundant  means;  yet  the  title  to  the  land  never 
passed  into  his  hands.  It  was  supposed  that  he 
was  awaiting  the  consent  of  someone  at  home  and 
that  the  consent  was  withheld.  Whatever  may 
have  hindered  the  consummation  of  his  evident 
purpose,  it  was  surely  with  a  sad  and  downcast 
look  that  he  one  morning  left  the  tavern,  having 
instructed  the  landlord  to  send  his  baggage  by 
the  next  stage,  two  or  three  hours  later  in  the 
day.  He  intended  to  walk  along  the  road  that 
here  skirted  the  high  banks  of   the  St.  Joseph, 


The  Pitiful  Quest  103 

and  to  step  into  the  stage  when  it  should  overtake 
him. 

The  driver  was  enjoined  to  be  on  the  lookout 
for  his  man,  nor  did  he  fail  in  his  duty.  He  even 
stopped  the  coach  several  times  and  as  often  called 
aloud  and  sounded  his  horn — an  extremely  sono- 
rous instrument,  as  all  who  ever  heard  it  might 
testify.  The  woods  and  the  river  gave  back  the 
echo  again  and  again,  but  the  driver  and  the  pas- 
sengers listened  in  vain  for  any  other  response. 

It  is  true,  a  woman  in  the  coach  thought  that 
some  heed  should  be  paid  to  a  sort  of  moaning  call 
which  she  once  heard,  or  thought  she  heard;  but 
the  others  knew  that  it  was  only  the  notes  of  a 
turtle-dove.  The  stage-coach  dropped  the  man's 
baggage  at  the  next  station,  where  it  lay  unclaimed 
for  so  long  a  time  that  the  matter  of  its  owner's 
disappearance  began  to  be  talked  about.  At 
length,  those  who  had  been  most  interested  in  him 
organized  a  party  to  search  the  woods  along  the 
stage-route  and  look  into  every  patch  of  grape-vine 
shade  on  the  river-bank  and  every  tangled  copse 
in  the  near-by  fields.  But  nothing  was  learned 
throwing  any  light  on  the  man's  strange  taking  ofif. 

There  were  many  French  and  Indian  half-breeds 
working  back  and  forth  on  the  river  at  that  time, 


104  Tales  of  Kankakee  Land 

and  it  was  well  known  that  some  of  them  were 
ready  for  any  desperate  deed.  Suspicion  fell  on 
these  and  grew  much  stronger  when  it  was  learned 
that  the  valuable  papers  and  a  considerable  amount 
of  money  known  to  be  in  the  man's  possession 
were  not  in  his  carpet-bag  or  travelling-chest,  and — 
so  it  was  thought — must  have  been  on  his  person. 
But  no  one  was  able  to  bring  the  matter  home  to 
any  of  these  desperadoes  of  the  river,  for  there  was 
no  substantial  evidence  against  them.  The  man 
himself  was  never  seen  again  or  heard  of.  His 
father  appeared  in  our  village  in  due  time  and 
himself  prosecuted  another  vigorous  search,  but 
was  unable  to  discover  the  slightest  circumstance 
tending  to  reveal  the  facts  of  the  sad  mystery. 

Years  went  by,  but  the  incident  did  not  pass 
from  the  memory  of  those  who  were  acquainted 
with  all  of  its  painful  conditions.  Therefore, 
such  people  one  day  felt  much  interest  to  see  the 
father  on  the  streets  again  and  still  in  quest  of  the 
lost  son,  but  now  much  broken  by  the  weight  of 
sorrow  and  of  advancing  years — though  with  a 
strange  light  in  his  eyes,  as  of  a  new  hope.  Some- 
times he  rode  off  to  The  Great  Island  to  spend  a 
few  hours  in  the  delightful  shades,  as  his  son  had 
so  often  done  before  him.     Frequently  he  was  seen 


The  Pitiful  Quest  105 

in  the  morning  walking  out  along  the  stage-route, 
or  leaning  heavily  on  his  cane  as  he  returned  in 
the  twilight  of  the  evening.  To  those  who  stopped 
to  speak  with  him  and  offer  a  word  of  sympathy, 
he  replied  almost  cheerily,  and  occasionally  ex- 
pressed the  belief  that  he  should  "soon  know  the 
truth."  The  total  absence  of  any  new  evidence 
whatsoever  created  the  feeling  among  those  who 
conversed  with  him  that  his  confident  expectation 
signified  some  slight  lapse  in  his  mental  powers. 
But  his  gentleness  and  his  serenity  of  spirit,  as  well 
as  his  lively  hope — at  times  buoyant  and  always 
secure,  though  apparently  born  of  a  disordered 
fancy — won  the  kindly  interest  of  all.  By  and  by, 
he  began  to  fail  visibly,  and  later  he  was  seldom 
able  to  leave  his  room;  and,  when  at  length  he 
took  to  his  bed,  it  was  known  that  the  end  was  not 
far  off. 

One  day,  however,  he  began  to  rally,  and  after 
a  time,  contrary  to  expectations,  was  seen  once 
more  about  the  inn  and  even  on  the  street.  It 
was  in  the  fine  days  of  early  November,  whose 
clear  cool  airs  and  bright  sunlight  had  doubtless 
effected  the  restoration  of  his  vigor.  He  began 
to  venture  again  along  the  stage-route  by  the  river's 
bank.      On  one  occasion  he  failed  to  return  at 


106  Tales  of  Kankakee  Land 

night-fall.  When  an  hour  had  passed  and  then 
another,  some  of  his  friends  walked  down  by  the 
river-bank  to  look  for  him.  A  few  who  continued 
long  enough  in  the  search  found  him  without  diffi- 
culty a  mile  or  two  away  sitting  in  the  bright 
moonlight  on  one  of  the  high  bluffs  by  the  river. 
Greatly  excited  in  mind,  he  was  yet  calm  in  de- 
meanor and  deliberate  in  speech,  though  there 
was  a  strange  tale  on  his  lips.  He  began  to  nar- 
rate his  experience,  but  stopped  with  the  first 
words,  so  that  all  might  listen  attentively  to  a 
peculiar  and  exceedingly  beautiful  voice  that  even 
at  that  moment  broke  on  the  still  night-air.  Per- 
plexed and  astonished,  no  one  could  discern  from 
just  what  source  the  sweet  sound  proceeded.  Nor 
could  any  of  them  either  affirm  or  deny  that  it  was 
a  human  voice  they  heard.  It  seemed  like  two  or 
three  varied  strains  of  a  song,  yet  no  words  could 
be  distinguished.  Some  thought  it  was  like  a 
series  of  notes  from  softly  pealing  bells;  others 
were  reminded  of  the  mellow  tones  of  a  flute,  rip- 
pling soft  and  low  and  then  rising  loud  and  full. 
There  was  a  note  here  and  there  that  suggested 
to  all  the  rich  baritone  in  the  voice  of  this  man's 
son — gave  them  an  irresistible  feeling  that  it 
might  be  a  spiritualized  form  of  those  melodious 


Siltinj^  in  tht:  liright  iiiuuiiliyhl  uii  one  uf  tlie  liiyh  LlutTs  ut  iht;  river. 


The  Pitiful  Quest  107 

accents.  The  father  himself  plainly  shared  these 
thoughts,  which,  however,  neither  he  nor  any  of 
them  expressed  in  words.  The  voice  having 
spoken  once  to  the  assembled  group,  was  silent 
thereafter. 

When  they  felt  certain  that  they  would  hear 
nothing  more,  the  aged  father  explained  that  his 
absence  had  been  prolonged  by  his  weariness.  He 
had  wandered  too  far  and,  during  the  return,  ex- 
haustion had  compelled  him  to  stop  often  for 
rest.  He  had  paused  in  this  very  spot,  and  while 
waiting  for  his  strength  to  come  back  to  him,  this 
wonderful  voice  had  broken  in  on  his  musings. 
He  had  stolen  cautiously  toward  the  small  tree 
from  which  it  seemed  to  proceed,  only  to  hear  the 
heavenly  strains  in  a  clump  of  shrubs  as  far  away 
to  the  right.  Supposing  that  he  had  at  first  mis- 
taken the  direction  of  the  sound,  he  went  thither, 
only  to  find  the  voice  still  farther  removed.  Seeing 
nothing,  he  had  thus  followed  the  alluring  melody — 
whether  the  notes  of  a  bird,  the  call  of  a  human 
being,  or  the  sweet  song  of  a  disembodied  spirit,  he 
knew  not — until  it  had  lured  him  on  through  a 
wide  circuit  and  back  again  to  the  very  spot  from 
which  he  had  set  out.  Here  he  had  remained  bewil- 
dered and  distressed,  with  his  hands  pressed  to  his 


108  Tales  of  Kankakee  Land 

temples  in  the  effort  to  clear  his  mind  and  know 
whether  he  was  indeed  in  the  flesh,  or  whether  it 
was  not  all  a  cruel  hallucination,  in  which  hope 
long  deferred  was  now  mocked  in  the  tones  of  his 
son's  voice.  The  group  walked  home  in  silence, 
nor  was  any  of  them  thereafter  able  to  determine 
beyond  peradventure  whether  or  no  he  had  lis- 
tened to  the  salutation  of  a  messenger  from  the 
spirit-world. 

It  was  Doctor  Sandy  that  cleared  up  the  matter 
in  a  manner  quite  to  my  satisfaction.  One  night 
some  years  after  this  strange  incident,  we  were 
returning  home  together  from  a  visit  to  one  of  the 
old  Indian  fields  on  the  St.  Joseph,  when  pro- 
longed and  rapturous  peals  of  melody  assailed  our 
ears  from  some  point  not  far  removed  from  the 
path.  It  was  a  moonlight  night  in  this  same 
month  of  November.  Surely,  this  was  the  very 
voice  that  others  had  heard  in  this  particular 
locality  and  under  similar  conditions.  Doctor 
Sandy  had  no  doubt  that  the  notes  were  those  of 
a  bird.  He  pronounced  its  Indian  name,  and 
stated  that  of  all  feathered  migrants  it  was  the  last 
to  leave  our  region.  The  Indians  had  the  tradi- 
tion, said  he,  that  this  bird  was  never  known  to 
utter  a  note  after  it  had  winged  its  southward 


The  Pitiful  Quest  109 

flight  across  the  marshes  of  the  Kankakee,  and 
its  melody  at  night  on  the  banks  of  the  St.  Joseph 
was,  therefore,  its  parting  song.  Waiting  for  all 
others  to  quit  the  haunts  of  the  north-land,  it  sang 
the  requiem  of  summer  joys  and  summer  melodies. 
We  call  this  little  tuft  of  marvellous  ecstasy  the 
hermit-thrush,  a  creature  possessed  of  the  most 
wonderful,  the  most  spiritual,  voice  on  the  con- 
tinent. As  the  Doctor  and  I  stood  in  the  soft 
light  of  the  November  moon  and  listened  breath- 
less, the  heavenly  accents  seemed  to  have  strayed 
into  our  sphere  from  some  choir  of  souls.  The 
region  of  the  St.  Joseph  is  the  southern  limit  of 
the  bird's  habitat,  and  while  well  known  in  the 
South  during  the  period  of  the  winter  migration, 
it  is  voiceless  there. 

And  so  it  is  a  matter  of  little  surprise  that  such 
a  father  mourning  such  a  son  should  have  listened 
to  the  hermit-thrush  in  wonder  and  amazement, 
and  should  have  stood  trembling,  as  in  the  presence 
of  a  messenger  from  the  spirit- world.  He  was 
seen  no  more  on  the  street,  for  each  day  found 
him  feebler  than  before.  As  he  approached  the 
end  the  little  community  felt  more  and  more  so- 
licitous for  his  welfare.  The  tale  of  his  sorrows — 
and  especially  this  new  experience — was  indeed 


110  Tales  of  Kankakee  Land 

known  to  all.  But  there  had  been  something  in 
his  character  and  conduct  that  had  in  a  particular 
manner  drawn  the  attention  of  little  children,  who 
would  often  go  a  little  way  with  him  in  his  walks ; 
and  of  older  boys,  who  would  subdue  their  voices 
as  he  passed  by,  or  would  come  close  to  his  side  for 
the  pleasant  word  awaiting  them.  Therefore,  to 
the  last  there  was  for  him,  although  a  stranger  in 
our  community,  an  increasing  tenderness  of  feeling, 
that  gentle  balm  of  sympathy  which  good  hearts 
reserve  for  the  afflictions  of  a  friend.  Sometimes 
this  delicate  appreciation  of  his  sorrows  expressed 
itself  in  the  compassionate  look  and  quivering 
speech  with  which  old  and  young  dwelt  upon  his 
pitiful  and  hopeless  quest.  Sometimes,  it  was  a 
bunch  of  wild -flowers  which  a  child  had  gathered 
on  the  river-bank  and  had  brought  home  for  him. 
Again,  it  was  a  few  clusters  of  white  grapes,  which 
were  wont  to  thrive  in  the  region  and  which  the 
boys  knew  how  to  find.  Or,  it  was  a  hatful  of 
plums  which  they  had  selected  for  him  from  the 
purple  tribute  of  those  trees  where  he  had  rested 
in  his  walks  along  the  stage-route. 

Finally,  he  passed  gently  away,  repeating  in  his 
last  breath,  and  with  the  bright  light  in  his  eye, 
the  expression  of  hope  which  had  so  often  fallen 


The  Pitiful  Quest  111 

from  his  lips,  "  I  shall  soon  know  the  truth ! "  And 
then  his  friends  understood  that  his  cheerful  ex- 
pectation had  never  been  the  vagary  of  a  dis- 
ordered mind,  but  the  prophetic  intuition  and  in- 
timation of  his  own  approaching  demise. 


VIII 

LEGENDS   OF  LOST  LAKE 

If  one  should  go  down  to  the  site  of  the  old 
Indian  village  on  the  Pottowattomie  trail,  he  could 
readily  find  the  spot  where  in  the  ancient  days 
the  canoes  were  drawn  up  on  the  bank.  The 
place  is  at  the  margin  of  an  open  sheet  of  water 
leading  down  to  the  little  river  in  the  midst  of  the 
marsh-land.  And  were  it  now  possible  for  a 
person  to  take  one  of  those  canoes  and  follow  the 
current  of  the  river  only  a  little  way,  he  would 
arrive  at  a  locality  where  for  a  distance  of  some 
rods  a  wall  of  bulrushes  several  feet  in  height  re- 
places the  usual  tufted  bank  of  the  Kankakee. 
The  region  covered  by  these  rushes  and  by  those 
standing  behind  them — an  area  of  several  acres — 
is,  in  fact,  the  mouth  of  one  of  the  river's  tribu- 
taries, though  a  person  unacquainted  with  the 
peculiarities  of  Kankakee  Land  would  never  sus- 
pect such  a  thing.  The  current  of  the  tributary 
being  so  widely  diffused  throughout  this  mass 

112 


Legends  of  Lost  Lake  113 

of  rank  vegetation,  the  passer-by  does  not  per- 
ceive that  a  considerable  volume  of  water  is  here 
oozing  through  the  long  wall  of  rushes  and  min- 
gling with  the  sluggish  tide  of  the  greater  channel. 

The  stream  that  in  this  manner  loses  itself  in 
the  Kankakee  is  known  in  our  day  as  the  Bar- 
kosky;  now,  however,  a  mere  canal  straight  and 
deep.  They  have  taken  out  all  the  sinuous  curves 
and  loops  by  which  the  ancient  water-way  crept 
from  its  source.  Lost  Lake.  In  ancient  times, 
its  Indian  name  was  one  derived  from  that  of  the 
parent  body  from  which  it  proceeded;  a  name 
well  applied,  since  both  the  lake  and  its  outlet 
were  completely  hidden  in  the  vast  morass.  The 
latter  is  one  of  those  extensive  regions  where 
thousands  and  thousands  of  swamp  acres  lie  con- 
tiguous to  the  Kankakee  marshes  and  are  linked 
therewith  by  many  streams.  The  latter  are  fed 
by  floods  that  well  perennially  from  the  secret 
depths  of  these  strange  lands.  In  the  red  man's 
day  no  human  foot  ever  ventured  on  to  the  surface 
of  this  great  morass.  In  the  midst  thereof  were 
spread  out  the  gloomy  shades  of  a  dense  forest  of 
tamaracks  in  plain  view  from  the  distant  shore. 

But  no  one  on  the  highest  of  the  upland  points, 
however  carefully  he  might  view  the  scene,  would 


114  Tales  of  Kankakee  Land 

ever  entertain  the  slightest  suspicion  that  em- 
bosomed deep  within  these  tamaracks  slept  the 
quiet  waters  of  Lost  Lake.  In  the  old  glacial 
times,  an  iceberg  stranded  here  had  been  twisted 
and  twirled  by  the  surrounding  floods  until  it  had 
ground  its  way  deep  down  in  the  underlying 
gravel  and  clay.  Into  the  ample  basin  fashioned 
thus  and  left  behind  when  the  iceberg  was  dead 
and  gone,  the  springs  had  poured  their  sparkling 
tributes.  To  the  circling  margin  the  tamaracks 
had  crowded  in  close  array,  from  on  high  casting 
their  long  shadows  o'er  the  fair  expanse,  and  with 
the  thick  soft  folds  of  their  beautiful  robes  drawing 
about  the  place  a  dark  screen  effectual  against 
every  curious  eye. 

Lost  Lake  was  one  of  the  tribal  secrets  of 
the  Pottowattomies.  Its  conditions  were  to  them 
a  matter  of  supreme  importance.  It  was  a  hiding- 
place,  a  secure  retreat  in  the  times  of  extreme 
peril.  It  could  be  approached  only  along  the 
waters  of  the  Barkosky,  a  stream  which  was  itself 
buried  away  in  the  great  swamp,  and  accessible 
only  where  it  entered  the  Kankakee  through  the 
wall  of  bulrushes.  In  the  old  days  this  wall  of 
bulrushes  was  never  intact.  Much  of  it  was  cut 
away,  and  other  parts  were  rudely  broken  down, 


Legcndn  of  Lost  Lake  115 

and  for  the  space  of  an  acre  or  more  it  could  be 
seen  plainly  that  the  Indian  women  had  been  here 
to  gather  the  material  for  their  rush  mats.  The 
mats  were  used  in  carpeting  their  lodges  and  often 
in  the  construction  of  the  walls  of  the  latter,  es- 
pecially during  a  season  when  the  deer  and  the  elk 
were  hard  to  find  and  the  few  skins  taken  were 
needed  for  clothing.  There  were  a  thousand 
places  where  the  women  might  gather  rushes,  but 
throughout  the  season  they  continued  to  take  a  few 
almost  daily  from  the  mouth  of  the  Barkosky. 
These  were  removed  to  the  village,  where  they 
were  spread  out  to  dry  until  a  partial  evaporation 
of  their  watery  juices  had  rendered  them  tough 
and  pliable.  But  why  were  one  or  two  of  the 
women  always  so  careful  to  gather  a  few  rushes 
at  the  mouth  of  the  Barkosky,  the  secret  doorway 
of  their  asylum? 

It  quite  generally  happened  that  those  of  their 
enemies  that  cherished  designs  against  the  lodges 
of  the  Pottowattomies  planned  the  attack  for  such 
a  time  as  at  least  a  few  of  the  bravest  of  the  latter's 
warriors  should  be  absent  with  their  own  war- 
parties.  No  matter  how  numerous  the  ranks  of 
the  enemy,  the  approach  would  be  in  secret.  If 
the  attacking  party  numbered  only  a  few,  they 


116  Tales  of  Kankakee  Land 

would  seek  to  strike  a  sudden  blow  and  then  escape 
by  running  away;  if  there  were  many  of  them,  they 
must  approach  with  more  caution,  so  that  their 
victims  might  not  escape  by  running  away.  For 
a  large  party  to  approach  unannounced  was  all 
but  impossible.  Therefore,  they  often  came  in 
small  detachments,  protesting  friendship  and 
passing  on;  yet  with  the  purpose  of  turning  back 
a  day  or  two  later,  when  others  of  their  band  had 
arrived  at  the  village.  But  when  the  first  of  these 
enemies  had  come  and  gone,  it  was  then  the  duty 
of  the  Pottowattomie  runners  to  fly  along  by  secret 
paths  and  both  ascertain,  beyond  any  chance  of 
error,  whether  any  more  of  their  enemies  were  ap- 
proaching, and  likewise  keep  a  strict  watch  on  the 
movements  of  the  party,  or  parties,  that  had  come 
and  gone.  If  there  was  grave  danger,  signal-fires 
flared  forth;  the  flame  at  night,  and  the  pillar  of 
smoke  by  day,  told  the  story  with  unerring  cer- 
tainty. At  such  a  moment  a  watchman  at  the 
point  of  the  high  sand -knob  across  the  marsh, 
having  read  the  fire-signal,  sent  up  the  prolonged 
howl  of  a  wolf  and  followed  this  with  the  cry  of  a 
bird,  as  agreed  upon  with  those  in  the  lodges. 
Answering  bird-notes  from  those  stationed  through- 
out the  whole  region  in  the  vicinity  of  the  lodges 


Legends  of  Lost  Lake  117 

informed  the  people  whether  the  immediate 
vicinity  was  clear  of  any  lurking  emissaries  of 
the  foe. 

If  it  was  found  safe  to  do  so,  all  the  women  and 
children  of  the  village,  when  night  had  come, 
slipped  out  of  the  lodges  without  so  much  as  a 
whisper.  The  burden,  such  as  a  bundle  of  cloth- 
ing or  an  infant  in  its  cradle,  rested  secure  on  the 
shoulders  and  neck,  and  was  held  in  place  by  a 
band  passing  over  the  forehead.  The  limbs  and 
body  must  be  free.  All  ran  to  the  landing  where 
the  overturned  canoes  were  drawn  up  along  the 
bank,  and  one  by  one,  stepping  on  the  fine  hard 
gravel  of  a  made  beach,  waded  cautiously  into 
deep  water,  swam  very  quietly  through  the  lagoon 
that  led  off  to  the  little  river,  rounded  the  bend, 
and  glided  away  down  stream.  The  Indian 
woman  was  the  strongest  and  most  adroit  swim- 
mer in  all  the  world;  the  necessities  of  her  life 
compelled  such  skill. 

But  how  was  it  possible  for  any  human  being  to 
make  progress  through  a  water-course  which,  in 
some  parts,  was  filled  from  bank  to  bank  with 
entangling  mosses  reaching  up  to  the  very  surface 
and  waving  with  the  current;  or,  in  other  parts,  was 
nothing  more  than  a  wide  bed  of  black  mire  with 


118  Tales  of  Kankakee  Land 

only  a  few  inches  of  clear  liquid  shooting  across 
its  forbidding  surface ;  or,  in  still  other  places,  was 
too  shallow  for  swimming,  and  yet  with  a  bed  of 
boiling  quicksand  where  no  living  creature  could 
walk?  Such  difficulties  they  had  by  no  means 
lost  sight  of.  A  winding  channel  had  been  made 
through  these  obstructions,  and  this  they  had 
carefully  kept  open  at  all  times.  Nor  could  any 
swift-darting  pickerel  thread  the  mazes  of  that 
devious  way  with  easier  grace  than  that  of  the 
Indian  women  and  girls,  whose  supple  bodies, 
gliding  through  the  channel,  fretted  the  current 
less  than  the  soft  undulations  of  its  native  moss. 
The  slumbers  of  the  little  papoose,  riding  safely 
in  the  rocking-cradle  above  its  mother's  head, 
must  not  be  disturbed  by  a  single  drop  of  water 
or  a  dash  of  the  thinnest  spray;  the  outcry  of  a 
frightened  or  fretful  child  might  be  fatal  to  all  of 
them.  By  "  treading  water  " — as  we  say — the  body 
of  the  mother  was  kept  so  nearly  vertical  that  the 
head  and  shoulders,  with  their  precious  burden, 
were  well  above  the  surface.  Never  touching  a 
leaf  or  reed  on  either  bank,  the  swimmers  paused 
from  time  to  time  in  the  places  where  the  water 
in  mid-stream  was  not  too  deep  and  the  footing 
firm;  the  little  children  needed  a  moment's  rest. 


Legends  of  Lost  Lake  119 

In  this  way  they  came  swiftly  and  noiselessly  to  the 
place  where  the  bulrushes  had  been  cut  away. 

Now,  if  that  wall  of  rushes  had  been  left  intact, 
the  first  swimmer  that  passed  through  the  thick 
mass  of  vegetation  could  do  so  only  by  leaving 
behind  a  tell-tale  track  of  broken  leaf -stalks.  The 
first  stranger  that  went  by  on  the  river  would  not 
fail  to  note  that  someone  had  entered  there.  On 
this  account,  the  women  had  kept  an  acre  of  the 
rushes,  or  more,  in  part  cut  away.  All  could  now 
enter  the  place  with  ease,  and  the  stranger  would 
pass  by,  saying  to  himself  that  here  the  mat-makers 
had  been  at  work.  He  might  push  inside  to  see 
whether  any  human  being  was  lying  concealed 
behind  the  mound-like  banks  of  the  river.  He 
might  make  his  way  around  the  entire  circle  of  the 
wall  of  standing  rushes,  but  he  would  search  in 
vain  for  a  broken  leaf  where  woman  or  child  had 
penetrated  the  living  screen.  Should  he  pass  up 
to  the  village  site,  the  canoes  in  line  on  the  bank 
would  assure  him  that  those  who  had  deserted 
the  lodges  had  gone  off  through  the  forest. 

And  yet  these  swimmers  did,  in  fact,  come  to  a 
particular  spot  along  the  circling  wall  of  reeds, 
where  the  first  one  was  careful  to  plant  her  foot 
in  front  of  a  certain  lily-pad  that  floated  by  the  side 


120  Tales  of  Kankakee  Land 

of  the  rushes.  The  foot  found  a  firm  foundation 
just  under  the  floor  of  the  black  mud.  Standing 
erect,  she  parted  the  rushes  very  gently,  stepped 
over  the  lily,  and  found  another  place  of  secure 
footing  within  the  leafy  wall.  Stepping  over  an- 
other mass  of  thick  vegetation,  she  turned  where 
she  stood  to  receive  a  child  from  the  hands  of  the 
woman  following  her.  The  children  could  not 
be  trusted  to  take  a  step  among  the  plants  that 
grew  on  the  border,  so  important  was  it  that  no  leaf 
should  be  moved  or  disturbed.  The  first  woman 
advanced  several  paces  with  the  child,  which  was 
then  set  down  to  follow  in  her  steps.  She  was 
walking  on  a  log  planted  firmly  underneath  several 
inches  of  mud  and  water,  and  with  the  surrounding 
vegetation  drawn  carefully  over  it.  Other  logs 
disposed  in  a  similar  manner  led  the  way  through 
the  rushes  to  the  mouth  of  the  Barkosky.  Here 
a  rude  platform  of  old  tree -trunks,  apparently 
stranded  in  the  place,  allowed  the  women  and 
children  to  step  out  of  the  water,  while  one  of  the 
former  drew  a  small  boat  from  a  hollow  sycamore- 
log  and  hurried  up  to  Lost  Lake  for  the  canoes 
hidden  there  and  by  means  of  which  all  could  be 
conveyed  to  that  safe  retreat. 
It  is  said  that  originally  the  shores  of  Lost  Lake 


Legends  of  Lost  Lake  121 

were  nothing  more  than  a  confused  mass  of  tree- 
roots  and  dead-wood  with  the  water  lying  between, 
and  that  the  unhappy  creatures  imprisoned  here 
by  their  terrible  fears  employed  themselves  in 
drawing  sand  from  the  bottom  of  the  lake  and  lay- 
ing it  down  in  one  place.  Thus  they  constructed 
a  strip  of  beach  on  which  they  could  raise  their 
lodges.  Indeed,  the  sand  had  been  heaped  up 
until  there  was  sufficient  depth  for  the  fire-holes, 
by  which  the  light  of  the  blaze  could  be  more 
easily  concealed.  Taking  care  to  burn  away  the 
grasses  outside  of  the  tamaracks  before  the  annual 
fires  had  come  up  the  Kankakee,  a  dense  under- 
growth among  the  trees  had  been  secured.  Once 
within  this  retreat,  they  were  as  completely  lost 
to  the  world  as  though  the  earth  had  opened  and 
received  them.  The  muskrat  and  the  beaver  were 
here  in  large  numbers,  and  the  lake  was  full  of  fish. 
The  penalty  was  death  for  man,  woman,  or  child 
that  should  seek  to  enter  or  leave  the  Barkosky  by 
daylight;  and  while  the  enemy  was  in  the  land  a 
guard  was  stationed  on  the  platform  at  the  mouth  of 
the  stream  to  enforce  the  stem  decree.  The  secret 
of  Lost  Lake  was  never  betrayed  while  the  Potto- 
wattomiesheld  the  land ;  nor  was  the  lynx-eye  of  the 
savage  enemy  ever  gratified  with  aught  that  should 


122  Tales  of  Kankakee  Land 

supply  the  faintest  clew  to  the  mystery  of  the 
hiding-place.  But  on  one  occasion,  a  calamity, 
in  itself  sufficiently  dire,  barely  stopped  short 
of  the  exposure  so  long  and  so  carefully  guarded 
against. 

Among  the  winter  stories  told  at  night  around 
the  fire  in  the  Pottowattomie  lodges,  was  one  that 
dwelt  with  very  careful  particulars  on  a  certain  in- 
vasion of  the  land  by  a  band  of  Iroquois.  The 
thrilling  experiences  thus  rehearsed  happened 
during  a  far-away  summer  in  years  so  remote  that 
no  one  pretended  to  say  just  when  the  event  had 
occurred.  It  seems  that  the  irruption  of  their 
dreaded  foe  was  a  peculiarly  severe  disaster,  since 
it  took  place  just  after  a  large  party  of  Pottowatto- 
mie warriors  had  left  the  village,  and  just  before 
another  had  returned.  With  the  exception  of  a 
few  boys  and  old  men,  the  homes  were  almost 
without  protection.  After  prowling  about  the 
region  for  some  days,  the  enemy  had  suddenly 
vanished.  So,  the  scouts  at  night  gave  the  signal 
for  the  retreat  of  the  women  and  children.  The 
message  came  at  an  unexpected  moment,  but  it 
was  none  the  less  thankfully  received  and  none 
the  less  promptly  obeyed.  There  was  a  scurrying 
to  and  fro,  and  then,  one  by  one,  they  ran  to  the 


Legends  of  Lost  Lake  123 

landing  and  stepped  cautiously  into  the  water 
and  sank  from  view  in  the  gentle  flood  and  thick 
darkness,  without  so  much  as  a  ripple  in  the  water 
to  proclaim  their  departure.  Soon  the  entire 
channel  was  filled  with  this  strange  school  of 
swimmers,  the  Indian  women  and  children. 

When  the  foremost  one  had  darted  through  the 
broken  bar  of  bulrushes  and  rounded  a  great  tuft 
of  standing  reeds,  she  was  brought  to  a  sudden 
stand,  one  of  the  long  twisting  masses  of  her  hair 
having  apparently  caught  in  some  projecting 
snag.  She  turned  and  reached  out  to  disengage 
her  tresses,  when,  to  her  amazement  and  horror, 
she  found  her  hair  and  then  her  wrist  in  the  firm 
grasp  of  a  powerful  hand.  A  war-club  was  held 
close  to  her  eyes,  and  above  was  a  fierce  and  threat- 
ening countenance  motioning  silence  with  a  most 
imperative  scowl.  She  now  discovered  that  she  had 
made  her  way  into  the  midst  of  a  fleet  of  canoes 
filled  with  Iroquois  warriors,  lying  motionless 
there  in  the  darkness.  One  by  one  the  women 
swam  into  the  clutches  of  the  enemy,  in  every  case 
silence  being  enforced  by  the  threat  of  instant 
and  certain  death,  while  strong  arms  drew  each 
of  them  aside  to  make  room  for  the  unsuspecting 
victim  that  followed  next  in  line.    Thus  a  blood- 


124  Tales  of  Kankakee  Land 

less  and  complete  victory  was  gained  for  the 
Iroquois,  one  of  supreme  interest  for  them,  since 
it  brought  into  their  hands  all  the  children  of 
the  village.  Thrice  happy  was  the  warrior  who 
carried  home  a  little  boy  or  girl;  for  the  red  man 
was  passionately  fond  of  children,  and  there  were 
seldom  more  than  a  few  of  them  in  the  lodges. 

But  this  easy  conquest  was  no  more  of  a  sur- 
prise to  the  women  than  to  those  who  had  set 
the  trap  for  them,  for  the  latter  had  done  so  all 
unwittingly  and  with  an  entirely  different  purpose 
in  view.  They  had  discovered  that  the  Potto- 
wattomie  war-party,  whose  return  the  village  had 
awaited  in  bitter  anxiety,  was  coming  up  the 
Kankakee.  To  lie  in  wait  for  the  latter  and  fall 
upon  them  from  this  covert  in  the  rushes,  was 
the  carefully  laid  plan  now  responsible  for  this 
remarkable  fortune  of  war.  They  had  delayed 
their  attack  on  the  village  for  some  days  that  they 
might  determine  the  time  when  the  approaching 
band  would  certainly  arrive.  They  had  known 
well  enough  that  the  lodges  were  completely  at 
their  mercy,  but  they  had  feared  to  encumber 
themselves  with  captives  before  they  had  en- 
countered and  destroyed  the  warriors. 

They  now  found,  therefore,  that  their  very  sue- 


Legends  of  Lost  Lake  125 

cess  was  a  new  and  serious  embarrassment.  They 
might  destroy  the  women  and  children  and  con- 
tinue to  wait  for  the  men ;  or  they  might  dash  up 
the  Kankakee,  hurry  over  the  path  that  led  across 
the  prairie  on  the  north,  and  strike  the  old  Sauk 
trail,  the  ancient  highway  which  was  their  home- 
ward path.  The  latter  course  was  quickly  de- 
cided upon,  the  precious  spoils  offering  an  irresist- 
ible temptation.  The  canoes,  loaded  down  to  the 
water's  edge,  were  quickly  turned  into  the  river, 
where  a  few  strokes  of  the  paddles  speedily  brought 
them  to  the  village  landing.  While  a  part  of  the 
band  led  the  captives  over  the  path  toward  the 
prairie,  others  conveyed  the  canoes  to  a  distant 
spot  up  the  river  to  conceal  them  far  off  in  the 
marsh-land. 

It  was  in  the  earliest  light  of  the  dawn  that  the 
returning  Pottowattomie  warriors  came  up  the 
river,  and  found  a  little  boy  shivering  in  terror  on 
the  bank,  just  below  the  limits  of  the  bulrush-wall. 
He  had  been  the  last  of  the  line  of  swimmers,  and 
having  caught  a  glimpse  of  what  was  occurring, 
had  continued  down  the  stream  until  compelled 
to  stop  by  the  entangling  moss.  The  boy's  ready 
tongue  soon  disclosed  to  the  warriors  all  the  sad 
misfortunes  of  the  village.     If  this  band  of  tardy 


126  Tales  of  Kankakee  Land 

braves  had  been  a  party  of  white  men,  doubtless 
nothing  would  have  restrained  them  from  dashing 
over  the  prairie  to  engage  the  Iroquois  there  in  a 
pitched  battle.  But  such  are  not  the  ways  of  the 
red  man.  The  warriors  did  not  even  stop  for  a 
parley;  each  seemed  to  know  as  by  instinct  the 
only  prudent  thing  that  remained  to  be  done. 
They  hurried  to  the  landing,  and  then  flew  along 
the  Pottowattomie  trail  that  skirts  the  marshes 
to  the  last  foot  of  their  spongy  soil  and  then  crosses 
over  to  the  St.  Joseph.  There,  in  the  place  where 
the  trail  comes  down  to  the  river's  brink,  a  shallow 
ford  stretches  to  the  farther  bank.  Once  safely 
across,  they  sped  swiftly  along  the  path  that 
held  its  way  down  stream  for  a  few  miles.  It 
brought  them  to  a  defile  in  the  hills  where  the  old 
Sauk  trail  crossed  the  stream  by  another  ford. 
This  ancient  highway  was  the  way  home  for  the 
Iroquois.  Concealed  in  the  dense  growth  on 
either  side  of  the  defile,  they  waited  in  dead  silence 
the  coming  of  the  hated  foe  that  had  robbed  the 
wigwams  of  wife  and  mother  and  sister  and  child. 
The  story-teller  in  the  firelight  of  the  lodges 
never  failed  to  dwell  on  this  situation  with  all  the 
possible  ecstasy  of  Indian  glee.  By  strange  and 
peculiar  modulation  of  tone,  and  by  mobility  of 


Legends  of  Lost  Lake  127 

features  quite  as  strange;  by  eyes  that  glittered  and 
flashed  or  buried  their  fires  beneath  a  deep  scowl ; 
by  fearful  contortions  of  the  body  or  a  gentle 
rocking  of  the  frame  to  and  fro;  by  hands  that 
snatched  and  brandished  furiously  an  imaginary 
weapon  or  with  lifted  palms  moved  softly  up  and 
down;  through  such  a  devious  and  significant 
pantomime  they  led  along  the  thoughts  of  the  rapt 
listeners  to  the  critical  moment  when,  with  a  per- 
fect scream  of  fury,  the  blow  was  struck. 

One  needed  to  catch  here  and  there  but  a  word  of 
the  vernacular,  as  more  by  action  than  by  speech 
the  story-teller  passed  in  review  the  whole  chain  of 
events,  link  by  link.  Now,  the  Iroquois  were 
coming  through  the  tall  grass  on  the  border  of  the 
prairie,  crowded  in  close  array  and  with  tumul- 
tuous haste,  and  yet  with  many  a  nervous  back- 
ward glance;  and  now,  they  hurried  the  women 
and  children  down  the  high  bank  and  with  impa- 
tient gesture  begrudged  even  the  moment's  pause 
at  the  water's  edge,  where  all  made  ready  to  stem 
the  swift  cold  current  of  the  St.  Joseph.  Now, 
they  are  cautiously  picking  their  way  over  the 
ford,  at  each  careful  step  bracing  the  body  against 
the  swirling  w^aters;  and  now,  the  foremost  ones 
are  advancing  on  the  strand  of  fine  gravel  to  which 


128  Tales  of  Kankakee  Land 

this  secret  way  through  the  swift  tide  had  led 
them.  They  wait  for  a  few  of  their  companions; 
and  then,  in  single  rank,  they  glide  along  the  path 
into  the  defile,  relieved  to  know  that  at  last  the 
St.  Joseph  lies  between  them  and  the  despoiled 
village  of  the  enemy. 

Not  until  the  last  captive  is  on  the  shore,  do 
the  Pottowattomie  warriors  leap  from  their  covert 
with  a  war-cry  that  makes  the  defile  seem  the  very 
gateway  of  destruction — a  cry  that  one  would 
think  might  wake  the  dead,  as  it  runs  with  quick 
reverberations  from  bank  to  bank  and  dies  aA^ay 
far  down  the  St.  Joseph.  The  Pottowattomies 
themselves  believed  that  the  spirits  of  their  dead 
friends  would  obey  such  a  summons,  and  hasten 
to  take  their  stand  where  they  might  rejoice  in  the 
valor  of  the  living.  The  Iroquois  first  encoun- 
tered were  quickly  overcome,  and  the  captive  wom- 
en following  in  their  train  released  and  armed. 
The  enemy  all  in  a  breath  found  itself  in  the 
possession  of  its  own  prisoners,  and  at  such  a  time 
the  Indian  woman  was  the  fiercest  of  all  antag- 
onists. So  swift  was  this  tremendous  reversal  of 
misfortune  that  only  the  merest  remnant  of  the 
Eastern  foe  escaped  from  the  scene.  Even  those 
of  the  rear-guard  still  in  the  water  were  in  many 


Legends  of  Lost  Lake  129 

instances  unable  to  make  good  their  escape. 
They  cast  themselves  into  the  powerful  arms  of 
the  current,  but  a  bloody  stain  marked  their  course 
for  an  instant,  and  then  many  a  lifeless  form, 
pierced  by  an  arrow  or  struck  by  a  spear,  whirled 
round  and  round  in  the  dark  pools  below.  Nor 
did  the  story-teller  ever  fail  to  rehearse  at  least 
a  few  of  the  savage  shouts  of  exultation  that  went 
up  from  the  lips  of  man,  woman,  and  child,  as 
they  held  their  homeward  way  through  the  tall 
grass  and  out  on  to  the  bright  prairie  and  down  to 
the  village  by  the  Kankakee. 

It  is  said  that  in  more  modern  days  Lost  Lake 
was  the  home  of  a  trapper,  and  that  in  still  later 
times  it  was  seized  for  the  operations  of  a  band  of 
counterfeiters.  There  can  be  no  doubt  that  it 
was  well  known  to  many  people  of  criminal  in- 
stincts, and  that  their  nefarious  plans  sometimes 
led  them  into  its  secret  shades.  But  long  after 
the  red  man  had  ceased  to  trust  in  it  as  an  asylum, 
the  place  once  proved  a  safe  retreat  for  the  perse- 
cuted both  of  his  own  race  and  those  of  another. 
At  the  beginning  of  the  nineteenth  century  the 
war-parties  of  the  Pottowattomies  were  still  in- 
vading the  lands  of  their  hereditary  foes  in  the 
far  South,  and  by  way  of  reprisal  those  from  the 


130  Tales  of  Kankakee  Land 

far  South  came  hither  and  were  sometimes  en- 
countered on  the  outskirts  of  the  Pottowattomie 
villages.  In  those  days  a  Southern  band  once 
succeeded  in  carrying  away  to  their  homes  a  num- 
ber of  women  from  this  encampment  near  the 
mouth  of  the  Barkosky,  the  famous  outlet  of 
Lost  Lake.  Many  years  thereafter  one  of  these 
women — only  one — found  her  way  back  to  the 
scenes  of  her  youth. 

A  maiden  when  led  off  by  her  captors,  she  was 
given  in  marriage  to  a  negro  who  was  a  voluntary 
exile  among  the  Indians,  a  fugitive  from  a  Ten- 
nessee plantation.  She  became  the  mother  of 
three  sons.  When  these  were  nearly  grown,  she 
prepared  to  set  out  for  the  home  of  her  childhood, 
supposing  that  the  Choctaws — whose  prisoner 
she  was — would  not  seriously  oppose  her  plans, 
seeing  that  their  espionage  of  her  and  her  ways  had 
long  since  entirely  ceased.  Yet  she  preferred  that 
her  going  should  be  unannounced,  and  so  slipped 
away  stealthily  with  her  entire  family.  But  the 
woman  and  her  family  failed  to  understand  that 
the  Choctaw  was  not  yet  ready  to  forget  the  past. 
They  were  pursued,  overtaken,  and  brought  back. 
Their  going  was  looked  upon  as  a  serious  offence 
to  the  tribe  in  which  the  father  had  found  a  secure 


Legends  of  Lost  Lake  131 

refuge,  and  the  mother  and  her  offspring  had  been 
treated  with  kindness.  The  old  men  in  council 
finally  decreed  that  the  family  should  be  punished 
in  a  manner  that  should  forever  be  a  warning  to 
both  the  captive  and  the  fugitive.  Since  these 
people  had  wished  to  be  away,  they  should  go 
forthwith.  Their  departure,  however,  should  not 
be  for  the  old  home  in  the  far  North,  but  for  the 
plantation  in  Tennessee  from  which  the  father 
had  once  escaped.  Thus  the  family  were  con- 
ducted to  the  slave-owner,  who  by  the  laws  of  that 
State  could  claim  them  as  his  property.  The 
tobacco-fields  of  Tennessee  must  be  the  abiding- 
place  of  those  who  had  presumed  to  set  their 
hearts  on  the  cool  woodlands  that  skirted  our 
Kankakee.  How  the  years  of  toil  wore  away  we 
are  not  informed.  It  is  only  known  that  the  hope 
once  kindled  in  the  heart  of  the  Pottowattomie 
woman  still  survived  and,  finally,  on  the  glad 
day  of  her  life,  nerved  her  to  attempt  the  delivery 
of  herself,  her  husband,  their  sons,  and  the  wives 
and  families  of  the  sons. 

Her  plans  this  time  were  laid  in  wisdom,  and 
they  were  carried  out  with  such  consummate  skill 
that  the  prompt  pursuers  in  all  the  journey  across 
most  of  the  width  of  two  States  and   through 


132  Talcs  of  Kankakee  Land 

the  length  of  another  were  baffled  at  every  turn 
by  the  wood-craft  and  the  sleepless  energy  of  the 
Indian  woman.  As  the  fugitives  approached 
our  town,  they  were  taken  in  hand  by  those  who 
in  that  day  were  accustomed  to  assist  the  runaway 
slave.  A  dark  room  in  the  rear  of  a  barber-shop 
was  their  hiding-place  for  a  day.  The  shop  itself 
was  a  small  building,  one  of  an  L-shaped  mass 
of  low  structures  that  cornered  at  the  intersection 
of  the  two  important  streets  of  the  town.  In 
their  rear  was  an  open  space  with  the  remains  of  a 
scattering  grove  that  in  other  days  had  often  wit- 
nessed stirring  scenes.  One  of  these  low  struct- 
ures was  a  commodious  log  building  which  had 
been  in  those  other  days  the  trading-post  for  the 
agent  of  the  American  Fur  Company.  In  the 
grove  at  the  rear  of  his  storehouse  and  dwelling, 
hundreds  of  Indians  often  set  up  their  lodges  for 
a  prolonged  visit,  which  might  or  might  not  end 
in  the  exchange  of  their  Kankakee  furs  for  such 
commodities  and  on  such  terms  as  the  trader 
should  be  able  to  offer.  Although  these  affairs 
had  long  been  consigned  to  the  oblivion  of  remote 
history,  yet  traces  of  the  old  conditions  were  still 
to  be  observed  from  time  to  time.  Two  or  three 
half-breeds  with  their  squaws  and  children  would 


Legends  of  Lost  Lake  133 

tie  their  ponies  to  the  few  remaining  trees  during 
the  fine  days  of  late  spring  and  proceed  to  spread 
out  their  stores  of  muskrat  skins.  Such  a  sight 
would  sometimes  stir  the  memory  of  one  of  the 
old  inhabitants,  and  the  gossipy  group  about  him 
would  listen  to  incidents  of  the  days  when  the  Pot- 
towattomies  were  still  playing  an  important  part 
in  the  life  of  the  region. 

Whether  by  preconcerted  arrangement  or 
through  the  merest  chance,  a  line  of  these  Indian 
ponies  had  filed  into  the  space  at  the  rear  of  the 
buildings  in  the  early  morning,  and  scarcely  an 
hour  after,  the  fugitives  from  Tennessee  had  been 
safely  stowed  away  in  the  barber-shop.  No  one 
saw  the  Pottowattomie  woman  who  was  the  leader 
of  the  runaways  clamber  to  the  top  of  the  high 
board  fence  at  the  rear  of  the  barber-shop ;  or  even 
peer  through  its  crevices  for  a  conference  with  her 
fellow- tribesmen ;  nor  was  she  seen  with  them  at 
any  other  time  or  place.  It  is  true  that  these 
Indians  went  away  without  offering  their  furs 
for  sale,  but  anyone  acquainted  with  the  pecul- 
iar traits  of  the  red  man  would  think  little  of 
such  conduct  on  the  part  of  those  whose  race 
never  hurries  in  a  matter  of  business.  At  mid- 
night three  wagons  came  to  the  rear  of  the  barber- 


134  Tales  of  Kankakee  Land 

shop.  A  section  of  the  fence,  so  constructed  that 
it  could  be  lifted  from  its  bearings,  furnished  a 
secret  gateway;  and  one  of  the  men,  stooping  down 
to  the  threshold,  tapped  out  gently  thereon  a 
series  of  signals,  as  previously  agreed  upon. 

There  was  no  response.  The  front  entrance 
was  tried  with  similar  result,  although  the  signal 
was  repeated  several  times.  Then  the  rear  door 
was  forced  open,  only  to  show  that  the  cage  was 
empty;  the  birds  had  flown.  In  such  a  manner 
the  nervous  trepidation  of  the  runaway  slave 
sometimes  balked  and  perplexed  those  who  were 
striving  to  help  him ;  but  often,  as  in  this  case,  the 
peculiar  instinct  of  the  hunted  served  him  well. 
For  the  men  from  the  wagons  were  scarcely  done 
with  their  expressions  of  astonishment  ere  a  pair 
of  blood-hounds,  growling  as  they  crouched  over 
the  doorstep,  sniffed  their  way  through  the  narrow 
hall  and  into  the  very  apartment  where  the  fugi- 
tives had  lain  concealed  through  the  day.  Men  on 
horseback  were  the  next  moment  leaping  down 
and  securing  their  steeds  to  the  fence.  In  vain 
those  from  the  wagons,  confronted  by  the  agents 
of  the  slave-owner,  protested  their  ignorance  of 
the  whereabouts  of  the  runaways.  High  words 
followed  after  the  premises  had  been  ransacked 


Legends  of  Lost  Lake  135 

and  the  hounds  had  taken  up  their  stand  by  the 
side  of  the  fence  from  whose  summit  the  fugitives 
had  apparently  spread  wing  for  parts  unknown. 

A  crowd  of  towns-people  soon  gathered  at  the 
place,  and  the  pursuing  party  quickly  learned 
that  the  men  from  the  wagon  were  prominent 
citizens.  The  latter  were  placed  under  arrest  and 
the  pursuit  given  over  at  this  point.  The  Ten- 
nessee people  preferred  to  look  to  the  courts  for 
a  bill  of  damages  against  those  giving  aid  and 
comfort  to  these  fleeing  human  beings,  who  in  the 
eyes  of  the  law  should  have  kept  their  places  with 
the  other  unfortunate  bondsmen  of  the  Southern 
plantation. 

It  was  the  general  belief  in  our  community  that 
those  who  escaped  from  the  barber-shop  on  that 
eventful  night  had  fled  to  the  North,  across  the 
State  line;  and,  having  buried  themselves  in  the 
deep  recesses  of  the  Michigan  woods,  had  pressed 
on  to  Canada  in  safety.  Before  their  day,  and  after, 
a  vast  number  found  freedom  along  such  a  path. 
But  in  truth,  as  Doctor  Sandy  could  explain,  the 
band,  led  by  the  Pottowattomie  woman,  never 
left  our  vicinity,  and  some  of  their  descendants 
are  even  yet  at  hand  and  still  preserve  faithful  tra- 
ditions of  the  strange  deliverance  of  their  ances- 


136  Tales  of  Kankakee  Land 

tors  on  that  night  in  the  long  ago.  These  accounts 
agree,  too,  with  the  story  which  Doctor  Sandy 
had  to  tell,  but  which  for  many  years  he  guarded 
as  a  grave  secret  and,  in  fact,  never  spoke  of, 
except  in  the  most  guarded  manner.  According 
to  his  narrative,  it  was  a  line  of  Indian  ponies  that 
filed  up  to  the  fence  in  the  rear  of  the  barber-shop 
and  bore  away  the  fugitives,  striking  at  once  into 
the  trail  that  led  off  to  the  Pottowattomie  village, 
from  which  one  of  their  number,  when  a  maiden, 
had  been  carried  away  as  a  Choctaw  captive. 

Nothing  more  than  a  pitiful  remnant  of  the  once 
populous  village  still  survived.  The  friends  and 
relatives  of  the  Indian  woman  had  been  deported 
long  since  to  points  in  the  far  West.  But  there 
was  one  aged  crone  who  held  a  torch  close  to  the 
face  of  the  returned  captive  and  was  able  to  recall 
the  past  and  find  in  those  worn  features  the  face 
of  the  girl  that  once  had  disappeared,  when  the 
enemies  of  their  people  were  raiding  the  land.  It 
must  have  been  a  sad  fruition  of  the  long-delayed 
hope  and  all  but  desperate  struggles  of  the  woman 
whose  devotion  and  heroism  had  finally  led  back 
her  numerous  brood  to  this  spot,  once  the  fair 
land  of  her  fathers. 

But  on  this  night  there  could  have  been  but 


Legends  of  Lost  LaliC  l-iT 

little  opportunity  for  mournful  recollections,  since 
the  ponies  were  allowed  to  pause  only  for  a  brief 
moment  before  the  lodges.  Nor  was  any  rider 
permitted  to  touch  foot  to  the  ground.  They 
pushed  ahead  down  to  the  old  landing,  and  rode 
their  steeds  out  into  the  shallow  water,  and  then 
descended  into  canoes  that  were  in  waiting  there. 
They  were  soon  gliding  down  the  Kankakee  to  the 
wall  of  bulrushes  at  the  mouth  of  the  Barkosky. 
Their  destination  was  that  ancient  asylum  of  the 
Pottowattomies,  Lost  Lake.  Here  they  remained 
for  weeks  and  months,  assiduously  cultivating 
every  species  of  disguise  by  which  in  the  future 
they  might  come  to  be  known  as  children  of  the 
red  race.  It  was  not  difficult  to  compass  such 
an  end  in  the  case  of  the  sons  of  the  woman. 

It  is  known,  in  fact,  that  after  a  while  they  some- 
times appeared  in  the  streets  of  our  town  and  were 
passed  off  by  their  Pottowattomie  friends  as  a  part 
of  a  visiting  band  of  Indians  from  the  West.  Tricked 
out  in  moccasins,  fringed  leggings,  blankets,  and 
the  red  man's  headgear  of  eagle  feathers,  or  the 
one  made  from  the  thick  bristling  coat  on  the  neck 
of  an  elk,  they  bore  themselves  with  all  the  native 
dignity  of  the  ancient  lords  of  the  soil.  Proud 
and  serene,  they  surveyed  the  field  where  only  a 


138  Tales  of  Kankakee  Land 

few  weeks  before  they  had  been  ready  to  sink 
down  with  terror  and  fatigue,  and  as  runaway 
slaves  had  been  forced  to  skulk  and  hide  from  the 
subtle  enemy  that  had  long  followed  close  on  their 
heels  with  manacles  and  the  lash.  And  when 
those  who  had  been  caught  in  the  attempt  to  aid 
and  abet  the  cause  of  these  unfortunates  were 
finally  brought  to  trial,  there  appeared  one  day 
among  the  excited  crowd  in  the  court  a  group  of 
Indians,  among  whom  were  these  sons  of  the 
Pottowattomie  woman.  Their  presence  even 
drew  the  attention  of  the  counsel  for  the  prose- 
cution, one  of  the  lawyers  contrasting  the  native 
manliness  of  their  free  bearing  with  the  cringing 
cowardice  of  the  African,  a  human  being  marked, 
as  it  were,  by  Heaven  for  the  low  estate  of  the  slave. 

The  trial  went  against  the  accused  and  stripped 
them  of  all  their  possessions.  They  had  strong 
friends  in  our  household,  and  of  all  the  tales  re- 
hearsed at  our  fireside,  the  saddest  was  the  story 
of  their  losses. 

Those  interested  in  the  archaeology  of  the  Kan- 
kakee have  recently  discovered  that  there  was  a 
rich  mine  for  them  in  the  long  mound,  or  mole, 
of  sand  constructed  by  the  Indian  women  on  the 
shore-line  of  Lost  Lake — the  spot  where  they  were 


Legends  of  Lost  Ijahe  139 

wont  to  raise  their  lodges  and  build  their  fires. 
The  place  seems  to  be  stuck  full  of  those  relics 
that  reflect  so  vividly  the  peculiar  conditions  of 
that  remote  life  in  the  dim  past — a  fragment  of  a 
broken  bone  fish-spear,  or  an  iron  one  from  the  fur- 
trader's  stores;  weapons  of  stone  and  ornaments  of 
slate  and  shell ;  a  sprinkling  of  wampum  beads  and 
thousands  of  glass  ones  of  all  colors  and  shades; 
the  shining  tusks  of  the  black  bear  and  his  cruel 
claws;  stone  arrow-points  and  those  from  sheet 
iron  and  hammered  copper;  long  smooth  pestles 
for  grinding  wild  rice,  corn,  acorns  and  lily- roots; 
pipes  of  red  catlinite,  and  steel  dagger-blades. 

Only  the  other  day  two  of  us  visited  the  spot. 
Someone  had  been  digging  in  the  sand  and 
sifting  it  with  care.  A  sheet  of  paper  weighted 
down  with  a  stone  held  the  recovered  treasures: 
a  few  gun-flints,  a  handful  of  beads,  and  a  broken 
dagger-blade.  Their  owner  was  out  in  the  middle 
of  the  lake,  leaning  over  the  side  of  a  tilting  canoe, 
where  he  had  dropped  a  long  line  down  to  the 
margin  of  the  great  hole  left  by  the  mighty  foot  of 
the  ancient  glacier.  The  slanting  rays  of  the  sun 
were  lighting  up  the  glowing  bronze  of  his  cheek 
with  a  ruddier  tinge.  But,  heedless  of  the  finny 
tribe  toying  with  his  hook,  he  fixed  his  steady. 


140  Tales  of  Kankakee  Land 

patient,  black  eyes  on  us,  not  a  little  disturbed 
at  our  intrusion  on  the  precincts  sacred  to  the 
memory  of  the  Pottowattomies,  Drawing  in  his 
line  and  seizing  the  paddle  without  once  turning 
his  gaze  from  our  direction,  he  was  soon  making 
swift  progress  toward  our  shore.  We  knew  him 
well,  Malachi  Sarka  Brown,  a  young  man  of 
muscle  and  sinew,  of  powerful  yet  clear-cut  mould, 
with  the  profile  of  the  red  American  and  something 
of  his  hue,  one  who  in  fact  styled  himself  a  Potto- 
wattomie.  In  the  court  record  Malachi  Brown 
is  designated  as  one  of  the  runaway  slaves  to 
whom  our  citizens  lent  aid  and  paid  so  dearly 
for  the  privilege.  And  Doctor  Sandy  says  that 
Sarka  was  the  maiden  name  of  the  Pottowattomie 
woman,  the  fond  mother  who  so  eagerly  braved 
a  thousand  perils  that  she  might  lead  back  her 
dear  ones  to  the  secure  retreat  of  this  ancient 
asylum  of  her  people,  and  to  the  free  airs  of  the 
wooded  isles,  the  sunlit  shores,  and  all  the  fair 
plain  of  the  Kankakee. 


IX 

ALONG  THE   SAU-WAU-SEE-BE 

Lying  between  the  forks  of  the  Kankakee,  and 

sweeping  across  to  the  banks  of  the  St.  Joseph,  and 

then  holding  its  way  down  the  course  of  the  latter 

stream  for  a  distance  of  several  leagues,  a  sunlit 

prairie  unfolds  its  fair  charms  to  the  blue  sky. 

Its  metes  and  bounds  encompass  less  than  fifty 

square  miles.     For  what  it  lacks  in  area  there 

was  once  full  compensation  in  its  pristine  glories 

that  included  not  a  few  of  the  exquisite  touches 

of  nature's  hand.     Its  original  outline  was  much 

like  that  of  the  human  foot,  and  at  the  toe  was 

located  the  village  of  the  Pottowattomies,  hard  by 

the  mouth  of  the  Barkosky.     From  this  village 

a    path    meandered    through    patches    of    hazel 

bushes,  dog-wood,  and  red  bud,  and   then  crept 

over  the  turf  where  a  brotherhood  of  aged  oaks 

lifted  their  ponderous  arms  and  touched  hands 

against  the  sky.     Beyond,  the  path  held  to  the 

border  of  several  tiny  meadows,  slipping  over  the 

ui 


142  Tales  of  Kankakee  Land 

low  hills  that  divided  them  one  from  the  other, 
and  then  mounted  by  easy  gradations  up  on  to  the 
warm  bosom  of  the  bright  prairie.  The  prairie 
was  a  network  of  such  paths,  some  of  them  a  mere 
thread  among  the  tall  grasses,  while  others  were  a 
yard  or  more  in  width.  These  broad  furrows, 
as  venerable  as  the  plains  they  traversed,  had 
been  worn  deep  in  the  soil  by  trampling  hosts, 
those  ancient  tribes  of  men  that  once  knew  the 
charms  and  the  terrors  of  this  wilderness. 

The  band  of  white  men  that  first  invaded  this 
fair  solitude,  the  illustrious  La  Salle  and  his  com- 
panions, found  one  of  these  deep  paths  that  ran 
over  the  prairie  from  side  to  side.  In  1679  they 
followed  its  course  from  the  banks  of  the  St. 
Joseph  straight  across  to  a  series  of  pools,  the  very 
tip  and  source  of  one  of  the  forks  of  the  Kankakee. 
It  was  the  famous  portage  path  from  which  the 
plain  has  ever  been  known  to  our  race  as  Portage 
Prairie.  A  thousand  years,  two  thousand  years, 
or  more,  had  sunk  deep  in  the  soft,  rich  earth 
this  famous  trail  that  came  up  from  the  basin  of 
the  Great  Lakes,  and  in  the  brief  span  of  a  league 
and  a  half  passed  down  into  lands  tributary  to 
the  Mississippi.  It  is  well  remembered  how  aged 
pioneers  of  this  region  were  accustomed  to  declare 


Along  the  Sau-tcau-see-he  143 

that  in  their  Ijoyhood,  when  riding  a  horse  over 
this  old  highway,  they  were  on  the  lookout  not  to 
strike  their  feet  against  the  turf  on  either  side. 
Thus,  deep  in  the  prairie-soil,  many  races  through 
many  ages  had  set  the  seal  of  their  presence  on 
this  plain.  The  aboriginal  American  was  a  great 
traveller,  and  the  wayfarer  of  ancient  days  might 
well  have  remembered  the  tranquil  beauty  of  the 
scene  that  met  his  gaze,  as  he  peered  over  the 
wall  of  turf  and  swaying  grasses  on  the  one  side 
of  this  path,  or  the  hedge-row  of  wild  roses  on  the 
other. 

The  plain  was  not  a  smooth  expanse  of  waving 
grasses,  but  one  gently  rolling.  Here  and  there  a 
knoll,  or  hillock,  rose  abruptly — a  few  square  rods 
of  elevated  ground — the  work  of  the  elements  in 
some  capricious  mood  during  glacial  times.  Such 
a  spot  was  one  on  which  a  buffalo  might  stand  and 
lord  it  over  his  fellows,  or  a  panther  or  wolf  steal 
up  to  eye  the  distant  herd  and  lay  his  plans. 

And  there  were  sudden  depressions  where  for  a 
half  acre  the  bottom  seemed  to  have  dropped  out 
of  the  prairie  and  let  down  the  surface  thirty  or 
forty  feet,  such  a  place  always  showing  a  pool 
of  living  waters  at  its  centre  with  encircling  flags 
and  water-grasses.     But  the  beauty-spots  of  the 


144  Tales  of  Kankakee  Land 

prairie  were  the  little  tufts  of  woodland,  as  Father 
Charlevoix  called  them  when  he  passed  over  the 
portage  path  in  1720.  The  forest  clumps  dotting 
the  great  field  bestowed  on  the  scene  a  peculiar 
and  impressive  charm.  They  might  consist  of  fif- 
teen or  twenty  enormous  white  oaks,  or  a  like  colony 
of  black  ones,  or  three  of  these  trees  might  stand 
together,  or  a  solitary  burr-oak  might  crown  a  tiny 
hillock.  Such  a  lone  sentinel  would  be  found 
stoutly  braced  against  the  storm,  from  whatever 
point  of  the  compass  the  latter  might  descend; 
and  the  outermost  branches  often  hung  low,  even 
to  the  grass-tops.  But,  in  general,  these  tiny 
forest  areas  scarcely  obstructed  the  vision,  for  the 
individual  trees  stood  apart,  with  their  branches 
lifted  high,  and  only  occasionally  was  there  any 
undergrowth.  A  chance  depression  within  the 
area  of  these  oaks  sometimes  sustained  a  plum- 
thicket  overgrown  with  vines,  and  in  such  places 
were  the  lairs  of  the  wild  beasts  of  the  plain — 
the  panther,  the  wolf,  the  black  bear. 

Many  of  these  "little  tufts  of  woodland"  still 
survive,  and  happily,  too ;  for  they  were  in  the  old 
days,  and  still  continue  to  be,  the  most  striking 
feature  of  the  region.  They  became  the  door- 
yards  of  the  first  settlers,  and  several  generations 


Along  the  Sau-tcau-see-be  145 

of  children  have  filled  hats  and  aprons  with  blue 
violets,  May-apple  blossoms,  wood  anemones, 
and  Jack-in-the-pulpits  where  the  she-bear  had 
rollicked  with  her  cubs,  and  the  kittens  of  the 
panther  had  tried  their  young  claws  on  the  bark 
of  the  plum  and  the  wild  crab  tree. 

It  was  in  one  of  these  tiny  groves  of  a  few  great 
trees,  where  the  shade  was  ever  full  of  light  and 
warmth,  that  some  children  were  once  at  play. 
They  were  smoothing  off  a  little  plat  of  the  soft 
turf  to  lay  out  with  sticks  and  stones  the  apart- 
ments of  a  doll's  house,  when  they  met  an  ob- 
struction not  so  easily  dislodged.  It  was  a  small 
rough  slab  of  limestone  such  as  one  sometimes 
finds  about  the  water-holes  on  the  prairie.  It  had 
once  stood  on  edge  but  now  was  lying  prone, 
buried  in  the  turf,  except  for  a  jagged  edge  and 
corner.  The  children  worked  the  fiat  stone  loose 
from  the  grass-roots  and  soil,  when,  lo!  there  were 
found  on  its  face  the  rude  letters  of  a  strange  in- 
scription cut  deep  and  with  a  care  that  quite  made 
up  for  the  plain  lack  of  skill.  Beneath  a  cross 
were  the  words: 

Heloise  Feaime  de  Adrian  Robert 

1718 

Toulouse  Languedoc 


146  Tales  of  Kankakee  Land 

Men  dug  in  the  place  and  found  a  grave  with 
the  crumbHng  remains  of  a  woman,  as  they  had 
expected.  The  hands  had  been  decently  disposed 
on  the  breast  with  the  fingers  clasping  a  crucifix. 
Nothing  further  of  interest  was  found,  except  a 
finger-ring  and  a  few  beads.  Who  was  Heloise, 
the  wife  of  Adrian  Robert?  Why  had  she  come 
here  in  1 718  to  die  in  this  lonely,  though  beautiful, 
wilderness,  so  remote  from  the  happy  home  in 
France — the  fond  friends  in  fair  Languedoc? 
Had  she,  perchance,  crossed  the  sea  as  a  bride 
to  find  a  place  in  the  life  of  the  rude  hamlets  on 
the  St.  Lawrence?  Were  the  rigors  of  the  first 
Canadian  winter  more  than  the  delicate  frame 
could  support ;  and  was  she,  when  death  overtook 
her,  seeking  a  new  lease  of  life  in  the  balmy  airs 
of  some  fragrant  grove  in  the  far-away  Southland  ? 
Was  the  new  home  to  rise  on  the  pleasant  shores  of 
one  of  those  peaceful  bayous  where  the  great  river 
draws  nigh  to  the  sea?  Strange  and  sorrowful 
fate,  to  have  fallen  here  on  the  very  line  dividing 
the  vast  domain  of  New  France  on  the  north  from 
the  vaster  and  more  hospitable  realm  in  the  valley 
of  the  Mississippi! 

Only  a  few  miles  away  on  the  St.  Joseph  dwelt 
a  considerable  colony  of  French  traders;  but  at 


Along  the  Sau-ivau-sec-be  147 

this  period  they  were  fierce,  lawless  spirits,  whose 
unrestrained  license  had  disheartened  the  Jesuit 
missionaries  and  for  the  time  being  driven  them 
from  the  scene.  The  spot  dedicated  to  the  cause 
of  the  church  and  made  safe  as  a  dwelling-place 
for  the  white  man,  deprived  of  the  pious  minis- 
trations of  the  clergy,  was  now  given  over  to 
violence  and  crime.  It  is  not,  then,  a  matter  of 
surprise  that  the  travellers  should  have  withdrawn 
from  the  presence  of  these  desperate  men  to  seek 
a  sanctuary  in  the  solitude  of  the  prairie,  where 
the  weary  one  might  die  in  sweet  peace  and  be  at 
rest  with  the  flowers,  the  birds,  the  pleasant  leaf- 
shade,  the  blue  sky  by  day,  and  by  night  the  watch- 
ful stars.  And  what  an  awful  anguish  must  that 
have  been  that  wrung  the  heart  of  Adrian  Robert, 
as  he  worked  out  the  inscription  and  set  up  the 
feeble  memorial  where  Heloise  had  left  his  side 
in  these  remote  depths  of  the  boundless  wilderness ! 
There  is  no  more  bitter  moment  than  the  one  in 
which  we  turn  from  the  resting-place  of  the  be- 
loved dead  and  force  our  feet  to  find  again  the 
paths  of  common  life.  But  to  turn  from  that 
lonely  grave  on  the  prairie  and  stumble  forward 
on  such  a  journey  must  have  shaken  the  soul 
of  Adrian  Robert  with  a  stress  of  grief  that  could 


148  Tales  of  Kankakee  Land 

have  declared  itself  in  none  of  the  languages  of 
men.  And  whether  his  wanderings  carried  him 
far  away  on  the  southern  rivers  or  back  to  the 
cold  Canadian  wilds,  what  surging  emotions  must 
have  swept  over  his  soul  as  he  thought  of  the 
voices  of  this  wilderness  ever  chanting  the  requiem 
of  his  dead!  In  moments  of  sorrowful  musing, 
down  to  his  latest  hour,  his  eyes  must  have  been 
fixed  on  the  fair  vision  of  this  sunny  plain.  The 
mighty  oaks,  so  grandly  calm — standing  still  while 
the  very  centuries  went  by ;  the  quiet  paths  where 
the  silent  red  men  strode  forth,  or  the  wary  step  of 
the  soft- footed  fox  found  a  way;  the  smooth  sea 
of  swinging  grass-tops  furrowed  by  the  whirring 
wings  of  the  prairie-hen;  the  earth  trembling 
beneath  the  tread  of  trampling  herds;  the  storm- 
clouds  rolling  in  from  the  wide,  watery  wastes  of 
the  Kankakee;  the  splendor  of  the  fires  in  the 
sunset  sky;  the  dreamy  spell  that  holds  the  scene 
when  the  moonbeams  slanting  from  the  tree-tops 
have  spread  over  the  prairie  the  enchantments 
of  spectreland — conditions  like  these  remembrance 
must  have  supplied  as  the  earthly  realities  among 
which  the  spirit  of  Heloise  had  taken  its  final 
stand  spread  its  pinions  and  fled  away  with  the 
parting  whispers  of  love. 


Along  the  Sau-wau-see-be  149 

But  this  lonely  resting-place  is,  in  truth,  only 
one  of  many  such;  for,  a  line  of  them — sweeping 
all  the  way  from  Quebec  around  the  lakes  and 
down  the  great  rivers  to  the  gulf — furnishes  silent 
witnesses  of  the  memorable,  and  often  pitiful, 
struggle  of  Gallic  life  in  America.  Sometimes 
it  is  a  cedar  cross  that  marks  the  spot  where  the 
dead  are  sleeping;  sometimes  it  is  only  a  great 
bowlder;  and  sometimes  they  did  as  the  Indians 
were  wont  to  do — planted  a  cedar-tree  above  the 
grave  that  it  might  spread  its  warm  palms  over 
the  soil,  and  in  its  red  heart  hold  forever  the 
memory  of  the  departed. 

The  path  that  led  up  from  the  Pottowattomie 
village  on  the  Kankakee  passed  within  a  stone's 
throw  of  the  grove  that  shaded  the  tomb  of  Heloise, 
as  Doctor  Sandy  remembered  well.  Indeed,  his 
testimony  is  still  corroborated  by  a  few  yards  of  the 
original  depression  that  even  yet  survive,  showing 
where  it  crossed  such  of  those  fence-rows  as  from 
the  beginning  have  never  been  changed.  And 
one  may  easily  find  the  place  where  the  path 
approached  the  banks  of  the  St.  Joseph.  Sumach 
and  the  elderberry  bend  above  it,  as  doubtless  they 
did  in  the  old  days,  and  the  cool  turf  has  spread  a 
decent  screen  over  the  ancient  footsteps.    But  noth- 


150  Tales  of  Kankakee  Land 

ing  else  invades  the  place,  except  here  and  there  a 
solitary  flower  from  the  border  of  violets  reaching 
down  from  the  brink.  And,  truly,  the  region  into 
which  the  path  here  descends  has  an  enchantment 
which  is  all  its  own.  The  French  were  accus- 
tomed to  call  the  slopes  and  the  lowlands  along 
the  St.  Joseph  the  Parkovash  (Fr.,  Pare  aux 
V aches),  or  cow-pastures,  because  the  buffalo-cows 
led  their  calves  into  these  places  when  the  sum- 
mer's heat  was  on  the  prairie.  The  Parkovash 
yet  retains  many  of  its  historic  charms.  The 
huge  white  sycamores  still  rise  from  the  water's 
edge  and  look  across  a  slender  strip  of  wet  meadow 
to  a  fringe  of  willows  and  blackthorns.  On  the 
higher  ground  above  are  the  tenderest  of  green 
grasses  spreading  through  an  open  walnut-grove 
or  running  from  the  shades  that  lie  around  the  mas- 
sive trunk  of  one  giant  oak  to  those  of  another  fifty 
yards  away.  In  the  primitive  days  the  strange 
and  beautiful  pattern  of  leaf-shade  and  sunshine 
held  all  the  slope  to  the  distant  glacial  hills  whose 
low,  rounded  tops  encompass  the  upland  prairie. 
The  Parkovash  was  peculiarly  the  home  of  the 
French  habitant.  The  landing-place  by  the  river, 
the  cool  spring  in  the  bank,  the  path  to  the  dwell- 
ing, the  old  fireplace,  and  the  garden-plat  are  yet  to 


Alons:  the  Sau-tcau-see-he  151 


'H 


be  discerned  at  frequent  intervals  through  the  en- 
tire length  of  the  region  and  still  exhibit  faithfully 
the  conditions  of  life  in  the  wilderness  abode. 
The  natural  charm  of  these  conditions  was  often 
lost,  it  is  true,  in  the  sudden  alarms,  the  extreme 
perils,  that  any  moment  might  bring.  But  years 
of  hardship  and  danger  had  inured  the  French 
adventurer  to  unusual  trials;  and  thus  he  might 
bear  with  fortitude,  and  even  indifference,  the 
threatenings  of  misfortune,  while  he  was  allowed 
the  freedom  from  all  restraint,  together  with  the 
fascinating  allurements  of  wild  nature  and  the 
abundant  creature-comforts  in  this  ideal  solitude 
on  the  banks  of  the  St.  Joseph. 

Well  might  he  rejoice  in  the  beauties  and  com- 
forts of  such  a  land.  The  rich  soil  promised  an 
abundant  return  from  the  garden-beds,  the  vine- 
yard on  the  hillside,  and  the  apple-tree  that  leaned 
over  the  roof.  The  fringe  of  wild  rice  that  every- 
where followed  the  banks  of  the  St.  Joseph  was  free 
to  the  harvester.  Fish  swarmed  in  the  river  and 
myriad  flocks  of  wild-fowl  floated  on  its  bosom. 
When  the  morning  mists  began  to  lift,  an  elk  herd 
was  seen  on  the  opposite  bank,  or  a  number  of  deer 
with  their  fawns.  When  the  sun  was  hot  on  the 
prairie  the  "great  wild  oxen"  filed  over  the  bluff  to 


152  Tales  of  Kankakee  Land 

stand  in  the  shade  or  nip  the  fragrant  herbage  along 
the  sweet  waters  of  the  meadow  springs.  When  even- 
ing came,  thousands  and  hundreds  of  thousands 
of  wild  pigeons  approached  certain  points  of  the 
Parkovash  so  that  the  sound  of  their  coming  was 
like  the  roar  of  a  tempest,  and  where  they  settled 
on  the  forest  even  the  mightiest  trees  sometimes 
sank  down  with  the  weight  of  the  feathered  host. 

The  red  man,  too,  was  under  the  spell  of  the 
Parkovash,  for  many  of  his  favorite  haunts  were 
here.  The  historic  record  points  out  a  wide  bench 
of  land  everywhere  roofed  over  with  a  magnificent 
canopy  of  spreading  boughs  as  the  rendezvous  of 
all  the  Pottowattomies  in  the  moon  of  Wild  Geese. 
They  met  here  for  the  feast  of  ripe  corn  and  to 
apportion  the  land  for  the  winter  hunt.  Up  and 
down  the  river  many  council-grounds  are  still 
remembered.  Such  a  place  was  the  ample  ex- 
panse of  smooth  turf  hard  by  the  Sauk  trail  ford. 
It  was  here  that  Black  Hawk  addressed  the  assem- 
bled chiefs  of  the  Pottowattomies,  imploring  them 
to  make  his  cause  their  own.  Would  the  Potto- 
wattomies stand  with  him  in  a  last  bitter  struggle 
against  the  encroachments  of  the  white  man?  It 
seemed  that  they  would  consent  to  do  such  a 
thing,    when    the    head    chief,    Pokagon — from 


Along  the  Sau-wau-sec-he  153 

whom  their  plans  had  been  concealed,  but  who 
now  had  been  secretly  apprised  of  what  was  going 
forward — suddenly  appeared  in  their  midst.  Un- 
derstanding the  wicked  purpose  that  was  in  their 
hearts,  he  denounced  it  in  measured,  though  un- 
sparing, terms,  warning  his  people  that  it  was 
madness  to  entertain  for  a  moment  any  thought  of 
war.  Turning  to  the  wavering  chiefs  that  had 
favored  an  appeal  to  arms,  he  so  overpowered 
them  with  contemptuous  ridicule  and  scorn  that 
they  cast  their  eyes  to  the  ground  and  then  covered 
their  faces  with  their  robes.  Finally,  as  his  re- 
proaches grew  more  and  more  severe,  they  leaped 
to  their  feet,  turned  their  backs  to  the  speaker 
and  then  fled  through  the  forest  and  disappeared 
over  the  hills.  The  words  of  the  good  and  wise 
Pokagon  had  prevailed;  once  more  there  was 
peace  in  the  heart  of  the  Pottowattomie,  and  Black 
Hawk  went  his  way. 

The  view  of  the  river  from  the  spot  where  the 
cool  turf  of  the  council-ground  spread  its  soft 
carpet  in  the  old  days  is  one  to  impress  the  beholder. 
Breaking  forth  from  between  the  hills  far  to  the 
right,  the  flood,  broad  and  deep,  swings  forward 
swiftly,  velvet  shadows  bordering  the  shining  path 
of  its  course.    Advancing  proudly  to  the  ford,  it 


154  Tales  of  Kankakee  Land 

ripples  by,  checks  its  eager  going  in  a  wide  bay, 
and  rounds  off  among  the  hills  on  the  left,  its 
course  a  line  of  beauty  whose  charm  is  not  easily 
defined,  but,  once  known,  is  never  forgotten.  All 
the  rivers  that  drain  the  great  glacial  hills  of 
northern  Indiana  and  southern  Michigan  are  in 
many  particulars  quite  different  in  type  from  the 
muddy,  sluggish  streams  of  lower  latitudes. 

But  of  the  water-courses  in  this  region  the  St. 
Joseph  is  the  one  that  most  strikingly  unites  those 
features  characteristic  of  them  all,  with  a  few  noble 
traits  peculiar  to  itself.  Until  the  very  hottest  days 
of  midsummer  its  sparkling  waters  are  always  cold, 
because  its  currents  are  fed  not  only  by  the  drainage 
of  upland  and  prairie  but  chiefly  by  innumerable 
springs  that  bubble  from  the  clay  beds  underlying 
the  bluffs  along  the  shore.  The  channel  is  cut  deep 
into  the  vast  strata  of  sand  and  gravel  left  by  the  Ice 
Age,  deeper  and  deeper  as  the  flood  draws  nearer 
and  nearer  to  the  great  fresh-water  sea.  There- 
fore, the  waters  ever  run  swiftly  with  dimpled 
eddy  and  sparkling  swirl,  pausing  only  for  a  touch- 
and-go  at  every  pebbly  beach  or  where  some  bold 
promontory  has  planted  a  foot  on  the  shore.  In 
those  first  days  what  pictures  of  leafy  branch,  blue 
sky,  and    whistling   wings   were   mirrored    here 


Along  the  Sau-wau-see-be  155 

beneath  these  headlands!  It  was  a  sight  to  move  a 
poet's  soul,  here  where  gigantic  forest-trees  leaning 
from  the  hillside  or  bending  down  from  its  summit 
flung  the  shadows  of  their  great  arms  far  across 
the  ford,  or  spread  a  denser  gloom  on  some  deep, 
dark  pool  where  the  hesitating  current  circled 
softly  round  ere  it  sped  away. 

The  Pottowattomies  called  the  river  the  Sau- 
wau-see-be,  a  name  softened  down  from  Sauk- 
wauk-sil-buck.  The  title  had  a  singular  origin, 
for  it  refers  to  the  death  of  two  Indian  women 
who  were  drowned  in  the  stream.  It  was  an 
unheard-of  thing  that  an  Indian  woman  should 
be  drowned,  so  expert  were  they  as  swimmers. 
But  that  two  should  perish  at  the  same  time 
seemed  astonishing,  if  not  a  prodigy.  And  when 
it  was  known  that  these  women  were  sisters  and 
the  sisters  twins,  the  old  men  shook  their  heads 
and  thought  it  plain  that  the  Spirit  of  the 
River  had  done  this  thing,  that  he  had  taken  these 
women  to  himself.  It  was  believed  that  the  Spirit 
of  the  River — the  tutelary  divinity  presiding  over 
the  affairs  of  the  stream — ever  looked  longingly 
on  the  soft  bodies  of  the  children,  the  stout  limbs 
of  the  young  men,  and  the  fair  forms  of  the  women. 
The  legend  further  declared  that  since  that  time 


1.56  Tales  of  Kankakee  Land 

the  Spirit  of  the  River  had  demanded  an  annual 
sacrifice  of  two  victims,  a  cruel  tribute  whose 
payment  not  even  our  race  has  been  able  to  evade. 
Doubtless  a  frequent  cause  of  death  for  the  weary 
swimmer  is  to  be  found  in  the  very  cold  waters 
of  certain  springs  gushing  forth  here  and  there 
in  the  river's  bed. 

On  some  of  the  headlands  the  aged  monarchs 
of  the  ancient  forest  still  survive,  and  even  in  their 
picturesque  decay  turn  the  thoughts  most  forcibly 
to  the  primeval  glories  of  the  Parkovash.  For 
years  the  dead  top  of  one  of  these  great  trees  was 
the  favorite  haunt  of  an  old  osprey.  Over  the 
quiet  waters  of  a  tiny  cove  at  the  base  of  the  bluff 
a  friendly  beach  had  spread  a  low-hanging  tent- 
cover  of  living  green,  a  Safe  retreat  for  a  boat  when 
the  river  grew  black  under  the  threatenings  of  an  ap- 
proaching storm.  None  who  have  taken  refuge  here 
could  forget  the  great  bird.  When  the  storm  came 
rumbling  across  the  prairie,  or  rolling  up  the  chan- 
nel of  the  St.  Joseph,  the  old  fish-eagle  never  failed 
to  swing  in  with  the  first  fierce  gale  that  blew,  and 
striking  the  perch,  to  wheel  about,  ruffie  up  his 
proud  crest,  slant  his  half-spread  pinions,  and 
scream  defiance  to  the  blast.  An  echo  of  the  past 
is  this  wild  cry  of  the  osprey,  an  echo  of  the  furious 


Along  the  Sau-wau-see-he  157 

struggle  with  which  through  dim,  unnumbered 
ages  here  in  the  valley  of  the  St.  Joseph  bird  and 
beast  and  man  have  fought  through  the  span 
of  life,  exulting  to  surmount  an  adverse  fate,  or 
perishing  at  last  beneath  the  stroke  which  their 
hot  hearts  had  oft  defied. 

The  islands,  too,  that  fret  the  currents  of  the 
river,  what  secrets  are  hidden  away  in  the  seclu- 
sion of  their  silent  shades  ?  As  you  draw  back  the 
dense  growth  to  peer  into  the  mysteries  of  one  of 
these  miniature  solitudes,  a  sudden  flutter  and 
whir  of  wings  may  set  your  nerves  a-tingling — the 
swift  wings  of  a  woodcock-hen  and  her  bevy  of 
fledglings.  Or,  in  such  a  place  you  may  come 
upon  a  long-forgotten  grave.  There  was  a  time 
when  it  was  easy  to  find,  now  and  then,  these  lone 
islands  where  a  cedar  cross  lifted  its  eloquent  arms 
to  claim  the  spot  as  one  sacred  to  the  dead.  But 
to-day  even  these  mute  witnesses  have  dropped 
into  the  current  and  glided  away,  just  as  every- 
where the  sea  of  oblivion  engulfs  at  last  even  the 
more  imposing  memorials  of  mortal  man. 

From  the  sheltered  cove  beneath  the  fish-eagle's 
tree  the  journey  by  the  gliding  current  is  a  short 
one  to  a  locality  once  well  known  in  Quebec  and 
New  Orleans  and   the   Palace  of  the  Tuileries. 


158  Tales  of  Kankakee  Land 

Even  before  the  white  man's  day — long,  long 
before — the  place  had  been  a  populous  centre 
for  those  who  dwelt  in  these  enchanted  wilds, 
since  an  Indian  town  occupied  the  favorable  site 
on  the  left  bank  of  the  river.  The  town  was  there 
when  La  Salle  invaded  the  region,  and  doubtless 
the  spot  had  been  held  by  many  races  through 
many  ages  past;  for  this  part  of  the  stream  was  one 
of  the  famous  fishing-grounds.  Here  at  a  place 
where  the  waters  were  shallow,  the  aborigines  had 
paved  a  strip  of  the  river's  bed  from  shore  to  shore 
with  great  slabs  of  limestone.  Just  who  they 
were  that  labored  at  this  task,  or  when  they  toiled, 
no  one  will  ever  know.  These  slabs  of  limestone 
are  a  characteristic  of  the  surrounding  glacial 
hills,  having  been  dropped  here  and  there  by 
some  iceberg,  parts  of  the  monstrous  booty  which 
the  Frost  King  had  stolen  from  rich  quarries  far 
to  the  north.  The  purpose  of  dragging  these 
huge,  flat  stones  into  the  river  and  disposing  them 
so  as  to  form  a  paved  path  through  the  waters 
was  an  important  one,  since  thereby  the  people 
might  more  easily  take  the  great  fish  with  which 
the  river  at  certain  seasons  was  fairly  alive. 

The  canoes  were  a-ccustomed  to  go  up  stream 
some  miles,  and  then,  descending  in  an  open  line 


Stoud  with  uplifted  spears. 


Along  the  Sau-wau-sec-he  159 

that  reached  from  bank  to  bank,  so  agitated  the 
waters  as  to  drive  before  them  the  finny  game. 
Companions,  who  in  the'meantime  had  taken  their 
stations  at  frequent  intervals  across  the  Hmestone 
floor,  stood  with  uphfted  spears  awaiting  the 
moment  when  the  form  of  the  rolHng  sturgeon  or 
the  catfish  or  the  swift  pickerel  or  the  quick- 
darting  pike  should  be  outlined  against  the  under- 
lying pavement.  Those  who  sometimes  witnessed 
these  operations  have  left  the  record  that  when 
the  spearmen  were  at  work,  the  boats  went  fre- 
quently to  the  shore,  and  were  often  weighted 
down  to  the  water's  edge  with  the  burden  of  fishes. 
It  was  nothing  strange,  therefore,  that  just  above 
this  renowned  fishing-place  a  great  Indian  village 
should  have  survived  from  remote  times  down 
to  a  period  within  the  memory  of  men  now  living. 
It  is  well  known  that  the  first  French  fort  in  all 
the  region  west  of  Niagara  Falls  stood  on  the  bluff 
at  the  mouth  of  the  St.  Joseph.  And  many 
believe  that  La  Salle,  attracted  by  the  unfailing 
food  supply  at  this  fishing-place,  and  by  the  oppor- 
tunities for  traffic  in  the  Indian  town,  built  his 
second  fort  at  this  point,  some  fifty  miles  from  the 
mouth  of  the  river  and  fourteen,  or  fifteen,  miles 
below  the  portage  to  the  Kankakee.     Or,  it  may 


160  Tales  of  Kankakee  Land 

be  true,  as  others  suppose,  that  the  fort  followed 
a  mission  which  Father  AUouez  is  known  to  have 
established  here,  in  1694.  But  whatever  its 
origin,  it  is  one  of  the  historical  verities  that  in  the 
field  just  opposite  the  Indian  town  stood  old  Fort 
St.  Joseph,  the  stronghold  of  the  French,  their 
secure  asylum  for  nearly  a  hundred  years  in  a  wide 
and  bloody  wilderness.  On  the  higher  ground 
beyond  its  walls  rose  the  virgin  forest;  in  front, 
circling  around  a  curving  shore,  rolled  the  bright 
waters  of  the  St.  Joseph. 

The  fishing  pavement  of  the  aborigines  has 
fared  better  than  the  work  of  the  white  man,  since 
much  of  the  former  is  plainly  visible,  while  it  is 
difficult  to  find  a  single  vestige  of  the  old  fort. 
Doctor  Sandy  and,  likewise,  many  of  the  early 
settlers  were  wont  to  assert  that  the  burnt  stumps 
of  a  part  of  the  palisades  were  to  be  seen  as  late 
as  1840.  But,  to-day,  little  may  be  affirmed  con- 
cerning the  spot  where  the  block-house  rose,  the 
lines  along  which  the  sentries  paced,  and  even  the 
location  of  the  single  entrance  where  the  ponderous 
gate,  heavy  with  spikes  and  bars,  held  fast  against 
the  foe  but  swung  wide  for  those  who  came  in 
peace.  Yet,  in  this  place  even  a  tame  fancy  must 
supply  itself  with  conjectures  that  are  both  pleas- 


Alon^  the  Sau-wau-see-be  161 

ing  and  plausible.  For  throughout  the  entire 
area  within  and  around  the  fort  one  can  hardly 
find  a  spadeful  of  earth  that  does  not  contain 
some  reminder  of  that  life  now  so  remote  and  so 
utterly  extinguished.  It  may  be  only  a  glass  bead 
with  surface  paled  from  the  slow  oxidation  of  long 
exposure;  or  it  may  be  a  piece  of  wampum,  the 
Indian's  tiny  cylinder  wrought  from  some  pearly 
shell;  or  it  may  be  the  lost  member  of  a  rosary 
string,  worn  smooth  by  the  affectionate  touch  of 
pious  fingers  that  long  ago  ceased  to  express  the 
heart's  emotion  or  obey  the  will's  behest. 

Hand-wrought  nails  are  common,  and  occasion- 
ally one  may  find  a  long  slender  awl.  There  are 
many  gun-flints  and  some  bullets,  buttons  of 
brass  or  pewter,  finger- rings  of  bronze  or  silver, 
buckles,  earrings,  little  hawk -bells  and  small  pieces 
of  sheet-metal  twisted  into  slender  cones  for  a 
tinkling  fringe  on  the  sleeves — curious  and  sug- 
gestive objects  that  one  picks  out  of  the  diggings, 
this  spadeful  or  that.  At  intervals — always  too 
long — one  comes  upon  a  large,  highly  ornamented 
bead  or  a  broken  pipe-bowl  of  red  catlinite,  or  a 
lead  seal. 

These  seals  are  extremely  interesting.  The 
traders  brought  over  from  France  and  England 


162  Tales  of  Kankakee  Land 

large  quantities  of  expensive  cloths.  To  prevent 
anyone  from  cutting  off  a  few  yards  while  the 
goods  were  in  transit,  it  was  customary  to  pull  out 
the  inside  end  of  the  bolt  and  catch  it  up  with 
the  outside  end.  A  hole  through  the  two  parts 
then  received  a  piece  of  soft  lead  which  when  set  in 
a  die  was  pressed  flat  on  the  cloth;  while  at  the 
same  time  the  maker's  trade-mark  or  name  or 
place  of  business,  together  with  numbers  and 
dates  and  peculiar  fanciful  designs,  were  stamped 
on  the  surfaces  of  the  soft  metal.  The  lead  was 
indeed  so  soft  that  often  the  imprint  of  the  two 
layers  of  cloth  between  the  heads  of  the  seal  may 
be  easily  distinguished  on  the  latter.  Crucifixes 
have  been  found.  Parts  of  guns  are  seen  frequent- 
ly; so,  also,  are  tomahawks  and  broken  knives. 

And  in  this  place  the  spade  discloses,  from  time 
to  time,  the  osteological  remains  of  every  species 
of  animal  whose  cries  were  once  heard  in  this 
wilderness,  cries  that  sounded  the  whole  gamut 
from  the  trumpet-call  of  the  whooping  crane  or 
the  bellowing  of  a  buffalo  bull  to  the  appalling 
voice  of  the  screaming  panther,  whose  accents 
sometimes  rent  the  midnight  air,  hushing  into 
silence  every  other  tongue. 

The  mission  had  been  named  St.  Joseph  after 


Along  the  Sau-wau-see-he  1G3 

Father  Allouez's  patron  saint.  The  fort  naturally 
assumed  the  name  of  the  mission,  and  the  river 
also  inherited  the  same  title.  Fort  St.  Joseph 
doubtless  bore  a  close  resemblance  to  all  these 
wilderness  strongholds,  which  consisted,  in  gen- 
eral, of  a  commodious  block-house  built  of  logs, 
and  sometimes  of  stone,  with  a  widely  encircling 
ridge  of  earth  surmounted  by  palisades.  The 
fence  was  no  light  affair.  Its  heavy  posts  stood 
high  and  in  close  contact,  and  were  sunk  deep  in 
the  earth,  while  their  tops  were  sharply  pointed. 
Sometimes  there  were  two  rows  and  even  three 
rows  of  posts,  those  in  the  second  row  covering 
the  spaces  between  those  of  the  first.  Scattered 
about  within  the  enclosure  were  many  small  dwell- 
ings where  the  soldiers  lived  with  their  families. 
The  professional  trader  settled  among  them,  and 
the  soldiers  themselves  were  encouraged  to  engage 
in  the  fur  traffic.  As  the  peaceful  years  succeeded 
each  other,  the  white  men — especially  those  having 
Indian  wives — were  emboldened  to  build  for 
themselves  more  commodious  abodes  outside  the 
ramparts;  and,  finally,  to  push  out  into  the  inviting 
spots  up  and  down  the  Parkovash. 

The  Frenchman  was  far  more  skilful  than  his 
English  brother  in  discovering  the  natural  con- 


164  Tales  of  Kankakee  Land 

ditions  and  fixing  the  exact  terms  of  an  enduring 
amity  between  himself  and  the  red  man.  He  had 
a  softer  tongue  and  was  himself  more  pliant  to  the 
savage  will.  He  had  also  a  better  understanding 
of  the  hardships  of  Indian  life  and  a  better  appre- 
ciation of  its  joys.  The  severe  lessons  of  his  own 
experience  had  schooled  the  Canadian  to  a  gen- 
uine sympathy,  which  the  Englishman  learned 
very  tardily  or  not  at  all.  Yet,  for  the  former,  too, 
the  forest  had  its  awful  terrors;  and  often  some 
sudden  alarm  spreading  through  the  valley  must 
have  hurried  the  inhabitants  within  the  ramparts 
of  Fort  St.  Joseph.  War-parties  from  distant 
regions  were  apt  to  come  and  go  along  the  Sauk 
trail,  and  while  here  to  stop  for  a  friendly  visit. 
If  their  stay  in  the  valley  was  too  prolonged,  it 
might  result  in  some  open  rupture  or  in  the  re- 
newal of  some  ancient  and  wellnigh  forgotten 
feud,  if  the  red  man  could  be  said  ever  to  have 
forgotten  a  cause  of  enmity.  The  Sauk  trail 
passed  around  the  southern  end  of  Lake  Michigan 
and  penetrated  to  the  aboriginal  highways  of 
Central  and  Northern  Wisconsin,  so  that  the  ad- 
venturous and  warlike  elements  from  hostile  tribes 
straying  into  this  pathway  were  doubtless  un- 
willing at  times  to  concede  and  respect  the  rights 


Along  the  Sau-wau-see-he  165 

which  the  French  had  acquired  in  the  Parkovash 
of  the  St.  Joseph. 

Thus  the  spring  of  171 2  was  marked  by  an 
exhibition  of  savage  frenzy  long  remembered  in 
the  valley  of  the  St.  Joseph,  and  leading  to  conse- 
quences very  terrible  for  some  of  the  Western 
tribes.  A  band  of  Mascoutins  had  wandered 
into  the  land  along  the  Sauk  trail  and  had  spent  the 
winter  in  the  Parkovash.  They  were  the  friends 
and  allies  of  their  relatives,  the  blood-thirsty  Outa- 
gamies.  Supposing  themselves  secure  in  the  pro- 
tection of  this  powerful  and  warlike  tribe,  the 
Mascoutins  were  in  no  way  careful  to  restrain 
their  young  men  from  acts  of  studied  insolence. 
The  conduct  of  the  latter  finally  became  so  out- 
rageous as  to  draw  upon  the  band  the  severe 
displeasure  of  the  people  at  the  fort,  as  well  as 
the  contempt  and  hatred  of  the  Pottowattomies, 
in  whose  lands  these  strangers  were  making  them- 
selves very  much  at  home.  When  the  Mascoutins 
first  appeared  in  this  region,  it  was  observed  that 
there  were  captives  among  them — three  Ottawa 
women.  The  Ottawas  lived  near  the  Straits  of 
Mackinaw  and  were  the  firm  friends  of  the  Potto- 
wattomies, so  that  the  presence  of  such  captives 
must  have  resulted  at  once  in  an  open  rupture 


166  Tales  of  Kankakee  Land 

between  the  visitors  and  the  natural  lords  of  the 
soil,  had  it  not  been  for  the  fact  that  the  three 
women  suddenly  disappeared,  the  Mascoutins 
insisting  that  these  unfortunate  ones  had  been 
restored  to  their  people.  It  was  believed,  how- 
ever, that  the  captives  had  been  put  to  death,  or 
were  kept  in  hiding.  The  latter  opinion  prevailed 
among  the  Pottowattomies,  since  some  of  their 
people  who  had  at  times  crept  near  the  encamp- 
ment of  their  visitors  believed  that  on  several  occa- 
sions they  had  caught  sight  of  the  Ottawa  women. 
The  Mascoutins,  however,  stoutly  maintained 
that  the  captives  had  been  sent  home. 

Such  was  the  state  of  affairs  when  spring  opened 
and  a  party  of  Ottawa  warriors  appeared  one  day 
in  the  chief  town  of  the  Pottowattomies.  The 
new-comers  were  led  by  Saguina,  a  noted  chief, 
who  declared  that  the  captives  had  not  been  re- 
stored and  that  one  of  them  was  his  wife ;  nor  was 
he  mild  in  his  reproaches  of  the  Pottowattomies, 
who  had  done  nothing  while  women  of  his  tribe 
were  suffering  captivity  on  the  banks  of  the  St. 
Joseph.  The  Pottowattomies,  having  grievances 
of  their  own,  had  already  determined  to  force  the 
Mascoutins  to  leave  the  land ;  but  Saguina's  revela- 
tions now  excited  them  to  a  pitch  of  anger  nothing 


Along  the  Sau-wau-see-be  167 

short  of  fury,  a  violent  rage — to  which,  in  truth, 
their  belligerent  spirit  was  ever  prone.  The 
warriors  rose  up  as  one  man  and  cried  loudly 
for  the  blood  of  the  Mascoutins.  Saguina  led 
the  attack.  So  carefully  planned,  so  sudden  and 
so  unexpected  was  the  fierce  onslaught  that  all 
the  men  in  the  band  of  the  enemy  perished  in  the 
struggle  before  they  had  time  to  seize  their  weapons, 
while  the  maidens  and  the  children  with  their 
mothers  were  led  away  to  the  camps  of  the  Pot- 
towattomies.  But  the  Ottawa  women  could  not 
be  found. 

It  was  known  at  the  time  that  a  very  large  num- 
ber of  Outagamies  and  Mascoutins  had  been 
encamped  through  the  winter  on  the  banks  of 
Detroit  River  and  close  to  the  palisades  of  Fort 
Ponchartrain.  The  Ottawa  captives  might  be 
concealed  in  that  place.  Therefore,  Saguina 
hurried  thither  with  his  warriors  by  the  easy  path 
of  the  old  Sauk  trail,  many  joining  his  forces  on 
the  way.  It  is  said  they  emerged  from  the  woods 
in  front  of  the  fort  with  more  than  six  hundred 
warriors  in  their  ranks,  and  that  they  advanced 
in  regular  divisions,  like  troops  of  white  soldiers. 
In  fact,  Saguina  had  fallen  in  with  bands  from 
many  Western  tribes  who  were  hastening  to  the 


168  Talcs  of  Kankakee  Land 

Detroit  River,  having  heard  the  rumor  that  the 
Outagamies  were  laying  siege  to  FortPonchartrain. 
They  discovered  at  once  that  the  rumor  was  true, 
and  learned  also  that  the  Ottawa  women  were  in 
the  Outagamie  camp.  The  commandant  of  the 
fort,  however,  was  sufficiently  adroit  to  arrange 
a  parley  with  the  enemy,  through  which  the  cap- 
tives were  restored  to  Saguina  before  the  siege 
was  turned  against  the  Outagamie  encampment. 

This  help  which  had  come  to  the  French  cause 
from  the  friendly  tribes  was  extremely  fortunate, 
for  it  was  doubtless  the  intention  of  the  Outa- 
gamies to  destroy  Fort  Ponchartrain  and  then 
join  their  friends  on  the  St.  Joseph  for  a  similar 
enterprise  against  French  interests  here.  In  the 
end,  however,  the  Outagamies  suffered  the  fate 
of  the  Mascoutins,  their  friends  on  the  St.  Joseph. 

So  dreadful  was  the  carnage,  when  the  com- 
bined forces  were  turned  against  this  hostile  tribe, 
that  many  supposed  the  Outagamies  had  been 
silenced  forever.  But  such  persons  reckoned 
without  knowledge  of  the  conditions  in  the  pop- 
ulous hive  hid  away  in  the  Wisconsin  woods. 
Here  by  the  banks  of  the  Fox  River  this  very  war- 
like people  had  established  a  stronghold  that 
seemed  impregnable,  whence  in  these  times  their 


Alonff  the  Sau-ivau-see-he  1^>0 

bands  were  setting  forth  to  distress  the  tribes  that 
were  friendly  to  Canada.  But  now,  it  was  hoped 
and  beheved  that  if  any  strength  yet  remained 
in  the  Outagamie's  right  arm,  the  lessons  taught 
on  the  St.  Joseph  and  the  Detroit  would  forever 
after  restrain  that  arm.  The  calamities  which 
they  had  suffered  might  tame  the  pride  and  cool 
the  passion  of  any  people.  But  these  anticipa- 
tions were  not  realized.  The  report  of  the  affairs 
in  and  around  the  two  forts  was  promptly  received 
at  Quebec,  only  to  be  followed  shortly  after  by 
tales  of  further  disturbance  on  the  part  of  the 
crafty  and  insolent  Outagamies.  Vaudreuil  was 
then  governor  of  Canada.  He  wisely  concluded 
that  the  belligerent  race  must  be  utterly  cut  off 
without  delay,  if  other  Western  Indians  were  to 
be  held  to  a  policy  of  peace — the  only  hope  of 
security  for  the  French  settlements.  To  such  an 
end  he  planned  wisely  and  for  two  years  spared 
no  exertions  by  which  he  might  subjugate,  or 
extirpate,  the  malignant  Outagamies.  Yet  such 
were  the  difficulties  of  the  undertaking  that  in  the 
end  Vaudreuil  failed,  or  was  compelled  to  content 
himself  with  uncertain  pledges  of  good-will. 

The   governor   did,    however,    accomplish    his 
purpose  in  one  way.     He  impressed  all  the  tribes 


170  Talcs  of  Kankakee  Land 

and  those  at  the  Western  posts  with  the  fact  that 
it  was  a  matter  of  first  importance  that  the  Outa- 
gamies  should  be  destroyed.  The  old  annals  are 
therefore  crowded  with  chronicles,  traditions, 
tales,  rumors,  covering  a  period  of  many  years  and 
detailing  bloody  encounters  w^ith  these  savage 
fighters  from  the  Wisconsin  woods.  But  of  them 
all  the  only  record  that  sets  forth  results  in  any 
degree  commensurate  with  the  hopes  and  desires 
of  the  Canadians  and  their  red  allies,  is  the  story 
which  reached  Quebec  just  as  the  first  snows  of 
winter  were  transforming  the  landscape  of  the 
St.  Lawrence,  in  the  memorable  year  of  1730.  It 
was  a  boy  that  brought  the  fearful,  though  truly 
welcome,  tidings — Coulon  de  Villiers,  the  son  and 
proud  messenger  of  the  Sieur  de  Villiers,  the  com- 
mandant of  Fort  St.  Joseph.  Years  afterward 
this  son  had  a  fort  of  his  own,  played  his  part  in 
the  French  and  Indian  war,  and  played  it  so  well 
as  to  defeat  George  Washington  at  Fort  Necessity, 
July  4,  1754.  But  in  1730,  this  boy  messenger, 
Coulon,  brought  to  the  governor  and  council  at 
Quebec  the  details  of  marvellous  exploits  in  which 
there  had  been  a  grand  expedition,  a  fierce  en- 
counter with  the  Outagamies,  and  an  overwhelm- 
ing victory  for  French  arms. 


Along  the  Sau-wau-see-he  171 

Late  in  the  summer  just  past,  tidings  had 
reached  Fort  St.  Joseph  and  the  Pottowattomie 
town  across  the  river  to  the  effect  that  a  great 
many  Outagamies  had  entered  the  Ilhnois  country 
with  their  women  and  children,  had  set  up  their 
lodges  near  the  base  of  the  great  eminence  called 
by  the  French  Le  Rocher,  but  since  known  as 
Starved  Rock,  and  had  surrounded  their  encamp- 
ment with  rude  but  strong  palisades.  The  Illinois 
Indians  were  occupying  the  Rock  and  some  of 
the  land  at  its  base.  When  the  visitors  had  thor- 
oughly fortified  their  own  village,  they  began  to 
quarrel  with  the  Illinois  and,  finally,  drove  the 
latter  up  on  the  Rock  and  proceeded  to  reduce 
them  by  the  starvation  process.  Anyone  vent- 
uring down  the  difficult  path  by  which  alone 
descent  was  possible,  was  shot  to  death.  The 
Outagamie  squaws  and  children,  eager  for  their 
part  in  the  work  of  the  siege,  stationed  themselves 
in  canoes  where  the  river  sweeps  past  the  perpen- 
dicular wall  of  this  wonderful  eminence.  When- 
ever those  imprisoned  above  let  down  a  bucket 
to  draw  water,  these  cruel  guards  of  the  place  cut 
the  ropes  or  thongs. 

If  it  was  intended  that  an  alliance  with  the 
French  should   mean   anything   to  a   tribe  ever 


172  Tales  of  Kankakee  Land 

faithful  in  its  adherence  to  Canadian  interests, 
this  moment  was  the  one  above  all  others  for  an 
effectual  test  of  that  meaning.  Nor  was  the  Sieur 
de  Villiers  the  man  to  hesitate  in  the  discharge 
of  the  duties  imposed  by  the  horrible  distress  of 
the  unfortunate  band.  When  the  tale  of  their  suf- 
ferings reached  his  ear,  he  knew  what  Canada  and 
France  would  expect  of  the  commandant  of  Fort 
St.  Joseph.  Runners  trom  the  Indian  town  across 
the  river  were  therefore  despatched  in  all  haste  to 
every  trapper  throughout  the  Parkovash,  and  to  all 
Pottowattomies  in  the  valley,  to  the  Miamis  on 
the  Wabash,  to  the  Ottawas  in  the  north,  and  to  the 
garrisons  at  the  Straits  of  Mackinaw  and  Fort 
Ponchartrain.  Weapons  of  every  species  were 
put  in  the  best  condition  for  active  service,  ammu- 
nition was  carefully  packed  for  safe  conveyance, 
and  even  the  small  cannons  in  the  block-houses 
were  taken  down  and  made  ready  for  the  journey. 
It  was  said  that  the  number  of  Indian  warriors 
responding  to  the  call  was  between  twelve  and 
thirteen  hundred.  The  forts  emptied  themselves 
of  all  able-bodied  defenders,  and  every  hunter 
and  trapper  within  reach  rushed  gladly  to  the 
defence  of  the  common  cause  against  the  hated 
Outagamies. 


Along  the  Sau-wau-see-be  173 

Wonderful,  indeed,  must  have  been  the  pro- 
cession of  canoes  that  pushed  off  from  the  strand 
at  Fort  St.  Joseph  and  held  its  way  up  against 
the  river's  swift  current.  The  commandant  Vil- 
liers  advances  foremost  of  all,  with  the  lilies  of 
France  lighting  the  way  for  his  wild  host.  A 
canoe  follows  in  line  with  a  priest  standing  erect 
and  raising  the  crucifix  on  high,  while  his  upturned 
vision  and  the  prayer  on  his  lips  begs  the  mercy 
and  blessing  of  Heaven.  Everywhere  the  stroke 
of  the  gleaming  paddles  keeps  time  with  the  blithe 
rondeau  of  the  boatmen,  and  as  they  circle  the 
headlands  the  men  from  the  Straits  cry  aloud  to 
those  from  Ponchartrain,  rousing  the  echoes  along 
the  shore  and  beating  back  the  silence  that  for 
infinite  ages  has  held  these  wilderness  shades. 

And  what  must  have  been  the  exultation  of  the 
painted  warriors  sweeping  forward  to  the  succor 
of  their  old-time  friends  and  the  destruction  of 
their  old-time  enemies?  A  thrilling  spectacle 
was  that  which  one  might  have  viewed,  had  he 
taken  his  stand  on  the  high  bluff  where  the  prairie 
approaches  the  river  and  gazed  down  upon  the 
canoes  sweeping  forward  in  twos  and  threes  and 
gliding  gently  to  the  portage  landing.  Then  came 
the  heavy  task  of  transporting  the  equipage — the 


174  Tales  of  Kankakee  Land 

light  floating  craft  and  the  munitions  of  war  and 
all  the  aids  to  their  safe-keeping  and  comfort. 
Every  back  must  bend  under  a  heavy  burden 
while  this  little  army  of  Frenchmen  with  its  red 
allies  covers  nearly  two  leagues  of  prairie-path  in 
their  approach  to  the  head-waters  of  the  Kankakee. 

It  is  said  that  there  are  two  thousand  bends  in 
the  tortuous  channel  of  this  stream  ere  it  reaches 
those  plains  where  it  is  known  as  the  Illinois  River. 
Now,  if  never  before,  the  tedious  delays  of  the 
serpentine  course,  no  less  than  its  muddy  shal- 
lows, its  floating  mosses,  its  bewildering  forests 
of  reeds,  might  have  sorely  vexed  these  eager 
spirits  burning  for  the  fray.  But  at  length  they 
emerged  from  the  land  of  lily-pads  and  wild  rice 
and  looked  abroad  on  the  firm  plains  of  the  Illi- 
nois country. 

Here  they  met  with  Saint-Ange  and  his  son, 
who  had  brought  their  forces  from  the  fort  farther 
down  the  river.  Together  they  proceeded  to 
Le  Rocher.  The  Outagamies,  observing  the  ap- 
proach of  this  host,  fled  within  their  barricades 
and  made  the  wall  firm  and  fast  on  all  sides.  The 
wigwams  had  been  set  up  in  a  grove,  and  this  had 
been  surrounded  by  palisades  standing  thick  and 
high.     The  French  found  these  defences  bullet- 


Along  the  Sau-wau-see-he  175 

proof  and,  for  their  small  guns,  cannon-proof. 
There  was  nothing  to  be  done  except  to  pick  off 
any  one  of  the  besieged  rash  enough  to  show  his 
head.  Thus  the  matter  stood  for  some  days — 
those  who  had  entrapped  the  Illinois  on  the  big 
Rock  being  themselves  ensnared  within  their  own 
wooden  walls;  while  the  Sieur  de  Villiers  and  his 
grim  multitude  stood  watching  and  waiting. 
But  the  besiegers  knew  that  they  had  not  long  to 
wait,  for  the  foe  had  little  to  eat  and  nothing  to 
drink;  and,  therefore,  the  Frenchman  was  on  his 
guard  from  sunset  to  sunset. 

Finally,  one  dark  night  a  portion  of  the  wall 
was  removed  with  utmost  silence,  and  the  Outa- 
gamies,  with  softest  tread,  stole  out  of  their  ram- 
parts. There  was  one  chance  in  ten  thousand 
that  they  might  find  safety  in  flight.  But  even 
that  chance  was  now  taken  away,  for  the  guards 
were  watching  them.  When  the  fugitive  band 
was  quite  outside  of  the  wooden  enclosure  and 
was  just  breaking  into  the  prairie,  the  alarm  was 
sounded,  and  the  next  moment  the  night  air  rang 
with  the  shouts  of  the  soldiers  and  the  pealing 
war-cries  of  the  red  men,  and  the  din  and  roar  of 
flashing  guns.  The  pursuit  was  so  prompt  and 
furious  that   the  poor  Outagamies'  hope  was  a 


176  Tales  of  Kankakee  Land 

forlorn  one  from  the  beginning.  WeaK  from 
starvation,  they  were  speedily  overtaken  and  easily 
overcome,  the  v^omen  and  children  first  of  all 
sinking  down  on  the  plain  pierced  by  the  swift 
arrows  or  torn  by  whistling  bullets. 

But  if  fortune  favored  the  men  for  an  instant, 
they,  in  turn,  succumbed  to  the  awful  stroke  of  the 
Frenchman's  revengeful  arm.  The  pursuit  began 
and  terminated  in  a  horrible  butchery,  the  mid- 
night darkness  cloaking  the  terrors  of  death  in  a 
thousand  ghastly  forms,  where  the  tomahawk 
and  the  spear  vied  with  the  gun  and  the  broad- 
sword in  ridding  the  land  of  a  scourge  that  all 
through  many  years  had  felt  or  feared.  WTien 
the  morning  sun  looked  down  on  the  plain,  the 
dead  were  everywhere,  eight  hundred  having 
perished  in  the  flight.  Of  this  number  it  is  said 
that  six  hundred  were  found  to  be  the  bodies 
of  women  and  children.  The  Indians  from 
Le  Rocher  could  find  neither  acts  nor  words  to 
express  their  great  joy,  as  they  viewed  the  com- 
plete destruction  of  their  cruel  foe.  The  allies 
mused  thoughtfully  on  the  scene  and  called  to 
mind  their  own  friends  who  had  perished  through 
the  Outagamies'  wanton  cruelty.  The  Sieur  de 
Villiers  and  Saint- Ange  paced  back  and   forth 


Along  the  Sau-tcau-see-be  177 

across  the  field  of  death,  and  their  sons  walked 
behind  them.  Now  and  then,  the  group  paused 
to  exchange  views,  or  surmises,  concerning  the 
rewards  which  the  government  in  France  had 
promised  to  those  who  should  do  this  deed. 

These  resolute  Frenchmen  from  the  East, 
having  achieved  their  difficult  and  hazardous 
enterprise,  then  hurried  back  to  the  St.  Joseph, 
well  satisfied  that  the  loitering  bands  of  Outa- 
gamies — if  indeed  any  of  them  still  survived  in 
the  old  Wisconsin  nest — would  not  soon  again 
venture  to  shoot  the  tame  doves  and  poultry  or 
feast  on  the  calves  and  pigs  or  drive  off  the  horses 
and  oxen,  or  steal  the  scalps  of  Frenchmen  and 
Pottowattomies,  during  the  summer  visit  to  the 
region  of  those  vine-clad  homes  along  the  beloved 
Parkovash.  And  what  must  have  been  the 
feelings  of  the  boy  Coulon  when  he  made  the 
journey  to  Quebec  to  tell  the  Marquis  de  Beau- 
harnois — then  governor  of  Canada — and  the 
intendant  Dupuy  and  all  the  numerous  officials 
of  Church  and  State,  what  his  father  and  he,  to- 
gether with  the  two  Saint- Anges  and  all  the  others, 
had  accomplished  in  the  Illinois  country  for  the 
glory  of  France  and  the  safety  of  the  cause  ?  He 
arrived  so  late  that  he  must  have  remained  to 


178  Tales  of  Kankakee  Land 

spend  the  cold  months  on  the  St.  Lawrence. 
Surely,  when  he  danced  that  winter  with  little 
Mademoiselle  Marie,  or  Madeline,  or  Mathilde, 
it  must  have  been  with  a  light  heart  and  a  proud 
one.  And  when  he  told  the  story  over  and  over 
for  the  hundredth  time,  it  must  have  been  with  a 
full  heart,  for  he  had  fought  bravely  in  the  thick 
of  the  fight.  How  tenaciously  his  boy's  memory 
must  have  held  on  to  every  minute  detail  in  all  the 
horrors  of  that  terrible  night  on  the  dark  plain 
by  the  side  of  the  great  Rock  in  the  land  of  the 
Illinois ! 

We  are  not  informed  how  often  it  seemed  neces- 
sary for  the  officer  who  ruled  at  Fort  St.  Joseph 
to  gather  his  retainers  about  him  and  sally  forth 
on  one  of  these  wrathful  incursions  into  the  lands 
of  their  enemies  near  or  remote.  But  it  seems 
probable  that  the  commandant  de  Villiers'  ex- 
pedition stands  quite  alone.  The  truculence  of 
the  Outagamies  and  their  friends  was  exceptional, 
other  tribes  lending  a  most  willing  ear  to  those 
soft  accents  that  so  skilfully  promoted  the  ends 
of  peace  and  sweet  accord.  Warlike  measures 
were  least  of  all  in  keeping  with  the  American 
policy  of  the  French  Crown  and  the  careful  plan- 
ning of  the  government  at  Quebec.     That  policy. 


Along  the  Sau-wau-see-he  179 

and  those  plans,  contemplated  nothing  more  than 
the  development  of  the  fur-trade,  the  discovery 
of  the  vast  wealth  of  precious  minerals  in  w^hich 
these  lands  were  supposed  to  abound,  and  the 
winning  over  of  pagan  peoples  for  the  glory  of 
the  faith.  Except  at  a  few  isolated  spots,  the 
country  might  remain  a  solitude.  The  magnifi- 
cent realm  now  apportioned  to  the  great  common- 
wealths of  Ohio,  Indiana,  and  Illinois  might  be 
made  to  yield  a  certain  number  of  bales  of  fur 
and  hides,  but  its  possessors  seemed  not  to  have 
had  the  faintest  dream  of  the  actual  resources  abid- 
ing in  their  marvellous  prize. 

But  the  fur-trade  itself  was  something  tangible 
and,  indeed,  bade  fair  to  prove  one  of  the  impor- 
tant supports  of  the  French  treasury.  And  this 
trade  through  an  extensive  area  of  the  country, 
together  with  the  activities  thus  aroused,  centred 
at  old  Fort  St.  Joseph.  The  hunter,  or  the  trapper, 
from  time  to  time,  stole  out  from  the  seclusion  of 
his  abiding-place  in  some  leafy  dale  or  dark  ravine 
and  hurried  to  the  fort  with  the  wealth  which  his 
patient  toil  had  wrested  from  nature's  wilds.  To 
this  gate  came  the  bands  of  red  men  with  enormous 
accumulations  of  these  coveted  treasures,  the  rich 
pelts  of  the  beaver,  the  mink,  the  otter,  the  shining 


180  Tales  of  Kankakee  Land 

robe  of  the  black  bear,  the  soft  folds  of  deer-skin, 
and  the  woolly  coat  of  the  buffalo.  To  the  shore 
in  front  of  these  palisades  swept  the  voyageurs, 
whose  songs  had  kept  time  with  their  paddles  as 
they  journeyed  up  the  Illinois  and  the  Kankakee, 
penetrated  to  the  utmost  sources  of  the  tribu- 
taries of  Lake  Michigan,  or  worked  their  way 
through  all  the  bright  waters  of  the  Wabash. 

When  old-time  faces  were  seen  at  the  fort  on 
such  a  day,  we  may  not  doubt  that  the  echoes  on 
the  river  were  wakened  far  and  near  by  wild  song 
and  the  hoarse  voices  of  boisterous  revelry.  But 
after  the  wilderness  had  again  claimed  for  itself 
these  spirits  bold  and  free,  there  was  little  to  break 
the  serene  calm  of  the  long  hours,  except  the 
waters  rippling  by  or  the  screams  of  the  eagles 
far  above  the  tree-tops  or  the  sweetly  solemn  tones 
of  matin  bells  and  vesper  hymns.  Sometimes  a 
travelling  priest  with  his  retinue  came  up  the  St. 
Joseph  and  rested  for  a  short  season  with  his 
brethren.  It  is  even  recorded  that  Englishmen 
from  the  Atlantic  coast  had  been  known  to  follow 
around  to  the  mouth  of  the  Mississippi,  and  having 
toiled  up  against  its  mighty  flood,  to  hold  their 
way  through  the  length  of  the  Illinois  and  the 
Kankakee  and  to  find  the  portage  path  and  so 


AloTiff  the  Sau-wau-see-be  181 

come  to  spy  out  this  stronghold  that  floated  the 
liHes  of  France,  and  in  the  name  of  that  proud 
banner  held  all  the  land.  Yet,  in  general,  strange 
voices  were  seldom  heard  at  Fort  St.  Joseph.  Days 
and  weeks,  and  even  months,  went  by  when  no 
unfamiliar  face  or  form  appeared  on  the  river's 
bank  or  came  through  the  forest-wall. 

Thus  the  years  wore  on,  down  to  the  Frenchman's 
sad  hour,  the  hour  that  saw  his  opportunity  in  the 
valley  of  the  St.  Joseph  pass  forever,  together  with 
his  just  title  to  all  that  splendid  American  empire 
for  which  through  a  century  and  a  half  he  had 
labored  and  hoped  and  dreamed  and  put  up  his 
prayers.  Englishmen  had  swept  the  plains  of 
Abraham,  Montcalm  lay  dead  within  the  walls  of 
Quebec.  And  so,  the  men  that  came  round  the 
lakes  and  up  the  St.  Joseph  pulled  down  from  the 
fort  the  insignia  of  France  and  set  up  the  British 
arms,  to  the  consternation  of  those  who  dwelt  in 
the  Parkovash  and  to  the  amazement  of  all  red 
men  in  the  West.  For  a  period  of  only  twelve 
years  might  the  lion  and  the  unicorn  hold  sway  in 
this  land  of  the  buffalo  and  the  beaver,  yet  such 
a  space  of  time  was  enough  for  several  disastrous 
events  in  the  place,  and,  finally,  for  the  destruction 
of  the  fort  itself. 


182  Tales  of  Kankakee  Land 

One  day  while  we  were  wandering  over  the  field 
formerly  occupied  by  Fort  St.  Joseph,  Doctor 
Sandy  chanced  to  pick  up  a  metal  button  on  whose 
face  was  a  design  composed  of  the  letter  K  and  the 
figure  8.  " Ha,  the  King's  Eighth ! "  said  he,  "the 
Eighth  Regiment,  whose  men  were  stationed  here 
at  the  time  of  the  massacre."  Some  of  the  Doc- 
tor's Scotch  ancestors  had  been  among  those  who 
were  engaged  in  the  fur-trade  in  this  region  even 
before  the  days  of  the  Revolution,  and  certain 
important  traditions  concerning  the  spirit  of  the 
French  people  living  here  had  come  down  to  him. 
He  proceeded  to  disclose  these  traditions,  together 
with  an  account  of  the  memorable  attack  that  had 
resulted  in  the  death  of  so  many  Englishmen. 

It  was  on  the  morning  of  a  summer's  day  in 
1763 — before  the  sun  was  high,  according  to  Doc- 
tor Sandy's  statement — that  a  few  Pottowattomie 
warriors  entered  the  gate  of  the  fort,  and,  having 
exchanged  friendly  greetings,  scattered  over  the 
premises  and  mingled  with  the  garrison.  These 
things  occurred  at  the  time  when  Pontiac's  forces 
were  laying  siege  to  Detroit.  That  wily  chief 
had  sent  the  Pottowattomie  braves  on  a  terrible 
mission,  one  which  for  many  reasons  was  pecul- 
iarly acceptable   to   themselves.    They  were  to 


Alons:  the  Sau-wau-see-he  183 


■^> 


take  the  old  Sauk  trail  from  Detroit  to  the  St. 
Joseph,  and  then  turn  down  the  path  that  led  to 
the  fort.  It  had  been  the  custom  to  allow  small 
bands  of  Indians  to  enter  the  gate  and  gratify 
their  curiosity  by  wandering  over  the  place.  So 
Ensign  Schlosser,  who  commanded  here  at  the 
time,  did  not  seek  to  restrain  his  visitors  or  put 
any  careful  watch  on  their  actions.  He  had  not 
heard  of  the  Indian  uprising  and  the  condition  of 
affairs  at  Detroit.  Suddenly  the  fort  rang  with 
a  great  cry,  and  a  chief  springing  on  the  com- 
mander bore  him  down  to  the  floor.  The  followers 
of  the  red  leader,  hearing  the  signal,  each  struck 
down  his  chosen  victim.  Only  two  members  of 
the  garrison  survived,  one  of  these  being  Ensign 
Schlosser.  They  were  led  off  to  experience  the 
horrors  of  captivity  in  the  Indian  camp. 

As  one  saunters  across  this  field  that  witnessed 
these  strange  historic  conditions,  he  recalls  that 
Fort  St.  Joseph,  although  hidden  away  in  the  vast 
forest  depths  of  the  great  continent,  did  not  escape 
its  part  in  the  Revolutionary  struggle.  For  the 
citizen  soldiers  of  Kaskaskia  on  the  lower  Illinois 
twice  marched  up,  and,  having  overpowered  the 
garrison,  plundered  the  place.  But  the  final  fate  of 
the  ancient  stronghold  was  not  only  such  as  no  one 


184  Tales  of  Kankakee  Land 

would  dream  of,  but  it  was  also  highly  dramatic. 
It  marks  the  farthest  north  in  all  the  conquests  of 
Spanish  arms  on  the  Western  continent.  As  an 
act  of  retaliation  against  the  English,  because  of 
their  conduct  on  the  Mississippi,  the  Spanish 
authorities  at  St.  Louis,  in  1781,  organized  an 
expedition  that  rapidly  marched  in  the  dead  of 
winter  across  the  frozen  prairies  of  Illinois.  Steal- 
ing cautiously  through  the  forest  they  surrounded 
the  fort  before  any  intimation  of  their  approach 
had  aroused  the  inmates.  The  commanding 
officer  was  absent  at  the  time,  his  duties  having 
called  him  to  the  Straits  of  Mackinaw.  A  half- 
hearted defence,  in  which  only  one  man,  a  negro, 
was  killed,  and  he  by  accident,  terminated  in 
capitulation.  The  Spaniards  looted  the  place 
and  then  burned  it  to  the  ground.  Afterward, 
Spain  consented  to  waive  her  rights  to  the  region, 
and  the  territory  came  back  to  the  English.  But 
the  latter  failed  to  rebuild  the  fort,  realizing  that 
it  must  soon  fall  into  the  hands  of  the  Americans, 
as  of  course  it  did  according  to  the  terms  of  the 
treaty  of  Paris. 

Doctor  Sandy,  however,  was  well  aware  that 
there  were  other  considerations  sufficient  in  them- 
selves to  prevent  the  restoration  of  this  important 


Along  the  Sau-ivau-see-be  185 

defence  of  the  white  man's  interests  in  the  land. 
The  French  inhabitants  begged  their  conquerors 
that  the  ancient  ramparts  should  be  set  up  once 
more.  Their  petition,  however,  was  promptly 
refused,  and  the  traders,  who  had  long  relied  on 
the  protection  of  the  fort,  were  told  to  go  and  live 
with  the  Indians  or  leave  the  country.  The 
English  had  much  positive  evidence — so  Doctor 
Sandy's  family  averred — convincing  them  that 
the  massacre  of  the  garrison  during  Pontiac's 
savage  war  had  been  consummated  with  the 
French  inhabitants'  full  knowledge  of  the  pro- 
posed attack,  if  not  with  their  connivance  and 
substantial  aid.  To  go  and  live  with  the  Indians 
would  be  no  hardship  for  the  French  trader, 
except  for  the  danger  which  the  red  man's  village 
ever  feared  from  the  approach  of  its  own  enemies. 
And  it  is  not  improbable  that  the  presence  of  the 
trader's  stores  would  invite  the  enemy.  So  he 
neither  left  the  country  nor  sought  a  home  in  the 
red  man's  village,  but  built  for  himself  a  strong- 
hold, together  with  his  brethren,  along  the  Parko- 
vash.  One  was  even  bold  enough  to  set  up  his 
establishment  on  the  south  bank  of  the  St.  Joseph, 
and  just  where  the  Sauk  trail  crosses  the  river. 
An  American  trader,  William  Burnett,  of  New 


186  Tales  of  Kankakee  Land 

Jersey,  may  have  been  one  of  those  who  suffered 
from  the  loss  of  Fort  St.  Joseph.  If  not,  he  was 
one  of  the  first  to  follow  our  flag  into  the  valley. 
A  mile  above  the  mouth  of  the  river  the  Kalamazoo 
trail  made  use  of  one  of  the  natural  fords.  A 
deep  cut  through  a  steep  bluff  on  the  west  side 
shows  where  the  trail  ascended  to  the  higher 
ground.  Following  down  the  cut  one  comes 
out  upon  a  smooth  terrace  of  land  of  just  sufficient 
elevation  to  be  beyond  all  danger  from  the  over- 
flow during  the  spring  freshet.  And  here,  where 
the  trail  came  up  from  the  river,  once  rose  the 
stanch  walls  of  Burnett's  thriving  trading-post. 
The  place  was  well  chosen.  If  the  frowning 
embankment  behind  the  post  added  somewhat  of 
gloom  to  the  evening  hour,  there  was  cheer  in 
the  sunrise,  since  the  glory  of  the  new  day  fell  full 
on  the  spot,  while  the  sheen  of  a  swift  current 
and  the  merry  ripple  at  the  ford  kindled  the  spirit 
with  fresh  resolve.  And,  following  the  course  of 
the  stream  below,  the  eye  swept  over  a  great 
bay-like  expanse,  where  tufts  of  wild  rice  and 
other  water-grasses  alternated  with  quiet  lagoons 
and  the  various  channels  into  which  the  river 
there  divides  before  gathering  its  floods  for  the 
greater  depths  of  the  harbor's  basin.     This  brave 


Along  the  Sau-wau-see-be  187 

establishment,  snug  and  stout,  was  thus  stationed 
where  all  who  travelled  by  land,  as  well  as  all  who 
journeyed  by  the  river,  must  pass  its  gates.  Its 
master  was  surely  a  man  of  iron  nerve  who  knew 
not  the  tremor  of  fear,  since  he  maintained  his 
own  through  a  score  of  years,  and  more,  in  this 
place  of  grave  and  constant  peril. 

A  motley  crew  it  was  that  came  and  went. 
Solemn  red  men  filing  out  of  the  forest  on  the 
farther  bank  stepped  cautiously  over  the  ford; 
or  sweeping  around  the  river's  curve,  lifted  their 
canoes  from  the  water  and  gently  inverted  them 
on  the  stony  beach.  With  these  were  numerous 
half-breeds — surly  fellows,  ever  ill  at  ease — and 
villanous  white  men  whose  crimes  had  cut  them 
off  from  the  fellowship  of  their  kindred.  The 
wretched  presence  of  these  outcasts  had  found 
tolerance  here,  if  not  sympathy,  because  of  the 
Indian's  strange  law  of  hospitality,  a  law  that  com- 
pelled the  red  man  to  feed  and  clothe  and  shelter 
all  who  came  in  peace.  Such  was  the  will  of  the 
Great  Spirit!  Sometimes  the  canoes  that  glided 
by  the  post  held  the  crew  of  a  rival  trader,  and 
their  grim  salute  might  be  the  ping  of  their  bullets 
on  the  palisades.  At  length,  after  weeks  of  dis- 
appointed hope,  came  the  day  of  rejoicing  when  a 


188  Tales  of  Kankakee  Land 

sloop,  the  Hunter  or  the  Iroquois,  stood  in  from 
the  lake,  tacked  up  the  river,  and  dropped  anchor 
in  mid-stream  just  below  the  ford.  Casks  and 
boxes  and  sacks  and  huge  bundles  of  merchandise 
were  hoisted  on  deck  and  let  down  into  the  stout 
punts  that  plied  between  the  ship  and  the  landing. 
The  vessel's  hold,  relieved  of  these  burdens,  was 
then  filled  with  great  bales  of  furs,  the  rich  tribute 
wrested  from  the  wilderness  through  many  months 
of  toil  and  severe  vicissitudes,  in  which  many 
human  beings  wore  out  their  lives  along  the  lakes, 
the  rivers  or  the  great  marsh-land  or  in  the  deep 
forests  or  on  the  wide  prairie. 

Until  quite  recently  a  circular  foundation  of 
heavy  stone-masonry  marked  the  location  of 
Burnett's  post.  This  wall,  set  up  with  much  care, 
seems  to  have  been  a  part  of  the  block-house. 
Men  still  remember  the  time  when  this  stanch 
foundation  was  roofed  over  with  the  remains  of 
what  had  been  the  heavy  oaken  floor  of  an  upper 
apartment.  The  ground  room  thus  surviving 
to  our  time  was  found  to  contain  a  chest  with  huge 
lock  and  strong  iron  bands.  The  rusty  lock  was 
easily  forced  open  and  the  heavy  lid  thrown  back. 
But  one  object  was  found  in  the  chest,  a  book 
marked  Ledger  B.    The  pages  of  the  latter  were 


Along  the  Sau-wau-see-he  189 

covered  with  accounts  and  with  an  occasional 
note  of  relevant  facts,  all  spread  out  in  a  clear 
and  careful  hand  and  still  plainly  legible.  Names 
of  people  and  places  as  recorded  here  have  little 
significance  now,  but  the  reader  cannot  easily 
conceal  a  strong  curiosity  in  the  price  of  a  gun  or  » 
a  copper  kettle  or  a  yard   of  red   broadcloth. 

Ledger  B  shows  certain  items  that  refer  to  a  trade 
in  cider,  and  with  startling  confirmation  of  its 
record  the  stumps  of  a  few  aged  apple-trees  still 
survive,  doubtless  the  source  of  the  post's  supply 
of  this  beverage,  and  suggestive  of  the  fact  that 
hard  cider  in  the  wilderness  might  bring  the 
price  of  brandy.  But  brandy  itself  was  at  hand, 
and  whiskey,  too,  and  New  England  rum ;  for  this 
was  the  particular  spot  on  the  St.  Joseph  where 
in  the  day  of  its  influence  boisterous  spirits  held 
high  wassail,  and  the  son  of  the  forest  forgot  his 
sorrows  in  copious  draughts  of  the  water  that  is 
also  fire.  It  is  not  hard  to  understand  the  secret 
of  the  fur-trader's  enormous  gains,  for  it  was  the 
common  practice  that  a  gill  of  poor  whiskey  should 
be  diluted  and  drugged  and  then  sold  for  a  dollar. 

Nor  were  other  commodities  to  be  had  on  more 
favorable  terms.  The  price  of  a  gun  was  deter- 
mined by  spreading  out  the  skins  of  beaver,  mink, 


190  Talcs  of  Kankakee  Land 

and  otter,  and  then  laying  them  one  above  another 
until  the  pile  pressed  down  should  equal  in  height 
the  length  of  the  gun.  To  increase  still  further 
this  enormous  cost,  the  barrel  was  made  of  great 
length,  the  dimensions  of  the  gun  being  often 
more  than  seven  feet.  The  shot-gun  and  the  rifle 
of  our  day  stand  from  three  feet  to  three  and  a 
half  feet  high.  In  those  times  it  was  highly  im- 
portant that  a  man  should  hit  what  he  aimed  at, 
and  it  is  a  fact — and  was  then  an  unquestioned 
belief — that  there  is  a  little  advantage  in  the  sight 
drawn  over  a  long  gun-barrel.  Therefore,  the 
excessive  proportions  of  their  fire-arms  was  tol- 
erated as  a  necessary  burden  both  in  the  purchase 
of  the  article  and  in  its  daily  use.  Doctor  Sandy 
often  spoke  of  this  old  trading-post,  calling  par- 
ticular attention  to  certain  deep  depressions  in 
the  ground  near  the  block-house,  and  these  he 
supposed  were  the  remains  of  the  wine-cellars 
and  pits  for  the  storage  of  vegetables.  He  re- 
ferred, also,  to  the  tiny  grove  of  wild  asparagus, 
which  is  still  to  be  seen  and  is  the  lineal  descendant 
of  the  old  garden-bed.  Wild  parsnips,  too,  are 
there;  but  left  to  the  self-assertion  of  their  own 
nature,  they  have  degenerated  into  poisonous 
plants. 


Along  the  Sau-wau-see-be  191 

Burnett's  place  doubtless  inherited  most  of  the 
trade  that  once  had  centred  at  old  Fort  St.  Joseph. 
Evidences  of  his  extensive  traffic  are  not  wanting 
nor  hard  to  find,  quite  independent  of  the  ample 
testimony  on  the  pages  of  Ledger  B.  Throughout 
Southern  Michigan  and  Northern  Indiana  and 
down  the  Kankakee  are  many  old  Indian  graves 
that  contain  a  wealth  of  beads,  silver  bracelets, 
earrings  and  ornamental  buckles,  guns,  scalping 
knives  and  tomahawks.  In  many  cases  these 
things  are  supposed  to  have  come  from  Burnett's 
post,  because  with  them  is  found  an  occasional 
porcelain  bowl  decorated  within  and  without 
like  broken  fragments  of  pottery  which  one  may 
easily  find  on  the  site  of  the  post,  and  the  manu- 
facture of  which  belonged  to  the  period  of  this 
man's  operations  in  trade.  These  objects,  so 
precious  in  the  eyes  of  the  savage,  have  come 
back  to  remind  us  of  the  ancient  traffic  in  those 
first  days  when  there  was  a  market  for  furs  in  this 
far-away  spot  on  the  wild  bank  of  the  beautiful 
St.  Joseph.  The  thrift  of  those  who  labored  here 
was,  however,  in  some  degree  unfavorable  to 
American  interests,  though  the  trader  himself 
was  doubtless  unconscious  of  his  service  to  our 
enemies.     There  can  be  little  doubt  that  the  Potto- 


192  Tales  of  Kankakee  Land 

wattomies,  in  making  their  preparations  for  the 
war  of  1812,  equipped  themselves  largely  from 
the  stock  at  Burnett's  post.  Burnett  himself 
was  no  longer  there.  Apprised  of  the  gather- 
ing storm,  he  had  taken  warning,  and  having 
disposed  of  his  interests  in  1808,  had  left  the 
country. 

It  was  a  dark  hour  in  the  valleys  of  the  St. 
Joseph  and  the  Kankakee;  the  red  man's  heart  was 
full  of  hate.  Maddened  by  the  encroachments  of 
our  race,  and  remembering  well  the  fate  of  Eastern 
tribes,  he  was  nursing  his  wrath  and  making  ready 
to  strike  an  awful  blow,  and  then,  if  need  be,  to 
perish  forever  on  the  soil  that  held  the  dust  of  his 
fathers.  Burnett  had  little  liking  for  the  silence 
of  these  bands  of  red  men  that  filed  across  the 
ford;  he  read  a  warning  in  their  angry  scowls;  and 
their  mutterings  as  they  passed  up  the  trail  mag- 
nified his  shrewd  forebodings,  already  dark. 
Sitting  in  his  arm-chair  when  the  twilight  shadows 
of  the  bluff  lay  black  on  the  river,  he  listened  to 
the  whip-poor-wills  calling  from  the  opposite 
bank  and  weighed  carefully  in  his  mind  the  grow- 
ing evils  with  which  the  times  were  rife.  He 
pondered  well  on  these  things  and  wisely  concluded 
to  retreat  from  the  wilderness  of  the  St.  Joseph 


Along  the  Sau-wau-see-be  193 

before  his  stronghold  should  become  his  prison, 
and  possibly  his  tomb. 

The  antiquarian  who  wanders  over  the  site  of 
Burnett's  post  is  apt  to  linger  thoughtfully  over 
the  place  now  known  to  some  as  The  Cursed  Spot. 
Just  at  the  top  of  the  bluff  and  by  the  side  of  the 
deep  cut  that  marks  the  old  trail,  they  point  out 
a  space  of  one  or  two  square  yards  where  nothing 
will  grow.  It  is  bordered  by  a  heavy  turf,  and  its 
soil  seems  identical  with  that  of  the  surrounding 
area.  But  from  the  seeds  dropped  on  its  surface 
no  buds  of  life  will  spring,  and  adventurous  rootlets 
that  work  their  way  into  its  rich  loam  shrivel  and 
die.  This  is  The  Cursed  Spot.  "What  hap- 
pened here?"  one  must  perforce  inquire.  Some 
will  tell  you  that  it  was  a  crime,  black  and  horrible, 
so  that  even  the  leaves  and  grass  trembled  and 
shrank  away.  Others  will  say  that  some  good 
angel  standing  here  spurned  the  ground  with 
indignant  foot  and  cast  a  blighting  spell  on  the 
spot  from  which  he  viewed  below  some  unrighteous 
orgy.  And  still  others  will  declare  that  the 
Indians  sitting  here  to  mix  their  paints,  flung  on 
the  ground  the  dust  of  strange  dark  minerals 
whose  potency  was  such  that  it  still  survives  to 
quench  the  glory  of  bud  and  leaf  and  flower. 


X 

THE  FIRST  CITIZEN  OF  THE  PARKOVASH 

Burnett  received  a  sure  warning  of  the  im- 
pending danger;  indeed,  the  sources  of  his  infor- 
mation were  finally  such  as  to  leave  no  doubt  in 
his  mind.  The  Black  Partridge,  a  chief  who  lived 
on  the  lower  Kankakee,  was  accustomed  to  cross 
over  to  Lake  Michigan  and  follow  the  coast-line 
around  to  the  harbor  of  the  St.  Joseph.  At  such 
times  he  built  a  fire  in  one  of  the  warm  pockets 
of  the  neighboring  sand-hills  and  awaited  the 
arrival  of  two  of  his  friends.  The  thin  column 
of  white  smoke  continued  for  some  hours  curling 
up  from  that  particular  spot  in  the  hills.  It  was 
a  signal  to  any  Indian  that  might  be  fishing  in 
the  harbor  or  loitering  about  the  landing  of  the 
trading-post,  and  the  intelligence  that  The  Black 
Partridge  was  at  hand  quickly  sped  up  the  river 
to  places  fifty  miles  away.  It  came  to  the  lodge 
of  Leopold  Pokagon,  the  civil  chief  of  the  Potto- 
wattomies  on  the  St.  Joseph.    This  lodge  stood 

194 


First  Citizen  of  the  Parkovash       105 

in  the  midst  of  Pokagon's  village  and  by  the  side 
of  a  spring  whose  abundant  waters  descending 
rapidly  along  a  quiet  and  deeply  shaded  vale 
received  through  its  course  of  a  mile  or  more  the 
offerings  of  a  hundred  other  springs,  and  then 
slipped  softly  into  the  currents  of  the  St.  Joseph. 
The  time  was  when  the  trout-stream  that  flowed 
from  Pokagon's  spring  joined  the  St.  Joseph  at 
a  place  near  the  west  landing  of  the  Sauk  trail 
ford.  Now  the  points  are  some  distance  apart. 
The  trail  itself  bordered  the  vale  to  Pokagon's 
town,  and  then  held  its  direct  course  across  the 
prairie. 

Whenever  it  became  known  that  The  Black 
Partridge  had  kindled  a  fire  in  the  sand-hills  by 
the  lake,  the  chief  Pokagon  hurried  over  the  trail 
to  the  landing,  turned  his  canoe  down  stream, 
and  was  soon  approaching  the  ancient  village 
presided  over  by  Tope-in-a-bee,  the  war-chief  of 
the  Pottowattomies.  This  is  the  village  that  from 
time  immemorial  had  held  the  pleasant  field  oppo- 
site the  site  of  Fort  St.  Joseph.  Tope-in-a-bee,  in 
waiting  for  his  friend,  stepped  into  the  latter's 
canoe  without  a  word,  and  the  light  craft,  impelled 
by  two  powerful  paddles,  swept  from  headland 
to  headland,  like  some  bird  skimming  the  waters 


196  Tales  of  Kankakee  Land 

in  careful  search  of  its  prey.  They  would  pause, 
however,  to  kindle  a  fire  on  Moccason  bluff  and 
again  at  Big  Bear  hill,  so  that  The  Black  Partridge 
might  know  that  they  had  received  his  message 
and  were  on  the  way. 

One  morning  in  the  spring  of  1808,  the  signal- 
smoke  went  up  from  the  accustomed  place  in  the 
hills.  Its  slender  column  for  a  time  attracted 
no  one's  attention  at  the  trading-post  and  might 
have  died  away  unobserved  by  any  white  person 
had  it  not  been  for  a  pair  of  dark-blue  eyes  that 
were  looking  sharply  from  the  gate.  He  who 
gazed  so  attentively  was  perplexed  somewhat  over 
the  conduct  of  an  Indian  boy  whose  canoe  had 
shot  out  of  the  reeds  below  the  ford  and  had 
pushed  up  stream  and  past  the  landing  with  some- 
thing like  precipitance.  The  youth,  in  fact, 
looked  neither  to  the  right  nor  to  the  left  before 
he  reached  the  bend  and  passed  on  out  of  sight. 

The  inquiring  eyes  were  then  turned  toward  the 
reeds,  and  so  on  far  beyond  to  the  light  plume  that 
curled  above  the  distant  sand-hills.  It  was  the  figure 
of  a  tall  man  standing  in  the  gateway  of  Burnett's 
post,  a  man  whose  limbs  were  those  of  a  schooled 
athlete,  and  whose  broad  shoulders  supported 
a  well-poised  head,  with  abundant  locks  clustering 


First  Citizen  of  the  Parkovash       11>7 

in  thick  curls  on  his  neck,  and  with  a  complexion 
where  a  smooth  olive  had  been  deepened  by  long 
exposure.  This  man  of  stalwart  frame  read  with 
joy  the  signal  of  The  Black  Partridge,  and  only 
hoped  that  its  summons  would  reach  willing  ears 
and  be  obeyed.  What  might  he  not  accomplish 
through  a  secret  conference  in  the  sand-hills  with 
Pokagon,  Tope-in-a-bee,  and  The  Black  Partridge? 
He  read  the  message  with  joy,  for  this  man  was 
John  Baptist  Chandonnai,  an  Indian  scout  in 
the  secret  service  of  the  United  States  Government, 
one  whose  duty  it  was  to  promote  the  ends  of  peace 
in  the  camps  of  the  Pottowattomies,  and  to  report 
any  of  their  plots  and  plans  that  might  be  hostile 
to  American  interests.  He  was  also  to  observe 
carefully  the  movements  of  those  emissaries  sent 
out  by  the  British  Canadians  and  now  working 
industriously  to  further  estrange  and  embitter 
our  Indians.  Well  known  to  all  who  dwelt  in  the 
Parkovash  and  on  the  Islands  of  the  Kankakee, 
and  familiar  to  every  red  man  in  the  region  of  the 
Great  Lakes,  and  with  racial  antipathy  to  English- 
men, Chandonnai  was  an  ideal  guardian  of  all 
interests  involved,  both  those  of  the  white  man 
and  those  of  the  red  one.  Moreover,  he  had  spent 
most  of  his  life  in  the  woods  between  Detroit, 


198  Tales  of  Kankakee  Land 

Fort  Wayne,  and  Fort  Dearborn,  knew  all  the 
secrets  of  the  wilderness,  knew  well  the  Indian's 
daily  life  and  conversation,  his  habits  of  thought, 
the  excellencies  and  the  weaknesses  of  his  char- 
acter. And  beyond  everything  else — even  beyond 
his  keen  discrimination  and  his  clear,  cool  judg- 
ment in  these  affairs — was  the  fact  that  this 
Frenchman  of  the  old  school  was  a  man  of  sterling 
worth,  just  and  genuinely  honorable,  a  thoroughly 
good  Catholic,  devoted  to  the  real  principles  of 
his  faith.  In  times  that  called  loudly  for  the 
good  man  and  the  hero,  this  brave  soul  was  easily 
the  first  citizen  of  the  Parkovash. 

When  night  settled  on  the  river,  it  found  the 
scout  peering  through  the  loop-holes  of  the  block- 
house where  he  had  been  for  an  hour  or  more, 
anxious  to  know  whether  the  signal-fire  had  been 
heeded  and  who  would  respond.  His  careful 
watch  was  rewarded,  but  too  late  for  him  to  deter- 
mine with  certainty  who  had  answered  the  call. 
Indeed,  the  canoe  that  passed  by  clung  so  close 
to  the  shadows  of  the  opposite  bank,  and  moved 
so  sluggishly,  that  even  this  man's  experienced 
eye  found  it  difiEicult  to  distinguish  the  object  as 
anything  more  than  a  drifting  log.  However,  the 
last  faint  reflections  of  twilight  still  lingered  on  the 


First  Citizen  of  the  Parkovash       199 

ford,  and  as  the  object  passed  over,  they  outlined 
dimly  the  canoe  with  the  motionless  forms  of  two 
men  crouching  low.  The  scout  drew  back  from 
the  loop-hole  quite  satisfied  with  the  knowledge 
acquired,  and,  descending  to  Burnett's  supper- 
table,  he  ate  the  evening  meal  in  silence. 

The  hours  wore  away;  the  lights  were  put  out; 
the  watch-dogs  lay  dreaming  in  their  kennels ;  the 
inmates  of  the  post  were  fast  asleep;  no  sound 
broke  the  stillness,  save  the  swirl  of  the  current 
in  front  of  the  landing  and  the  howling  of  a  pack 
of  wolves  miles  and  miles  away,  where  a  deer  was 
straining  forward  to  reach  the  river  and  put  the 
barrier  of  its  swift  waters  between  herself  and  her 
pursuers.  The  gates  of  the  trading-post  had  been 
closed  and  bolted  and  barred,  but  the  scout  stood 
outside,  leaning  against  the  palisade-wall.  His 
rifle  rested  on  his  arm.  The  scene  had  changed, 
for  the  moon  had  risen  full-orbed,  and  Chan- 
donnai,  before  venturing  forth,  was  only  waiting 
until  its  beams  should  most  nearly  counterfeit  the 
day.  Finally,  he  stepped  down  to  his  canoe, 
pushed  across  to  the  other  bank,  drew  the  light 
craft  into  the  thicket,  and  pursued  his  way  through 
the  forest. 

To  follow  his  path  would  be  to  make  the  detour 


200  Tales  of  Kankakee  Land 

of  a  swamp.  Afterward,  one  must  cross  a  stream 
and  then  strike  into  the  dry  bed  of  an  ancient 
water-course  that  opens  out  on  the  lake-front  a 
mile  above  the  rendezvous  of  The  Black  Partridge 
and  his  friends.  Having  reached  the  shore  of 
the  lake,  Chandonnai  raised  his  powerful  voice 
in  one  of  the  old  songs  of  the  Canadian  boat- 
men, a  carol  whose  lines  he  remembered  since 
the  days  when  he  had  held  his  place  in  the  long 
canoe  of  the  voyageurs.  As  he  sang,  he  walked 
down  the  shore,  advancing  rapidly  along  the  hard 
sands  near  the  water's  edge.  The  high  embank- 
ment that  in  this  place  fronts  the  lake  for  a  half 
mile  reflected  the  great  wave  of  melody  far  out 
on  to  the  floor  of  the  lake,  but  allowed  scarcely 
the  faintest  echo  to  creep  through  the  overtopping 
verdure  and  into  the  forest  beyond.  But  these 
conditions  in  no  way  hindered  the  rich  tones  from 
reaching  those  for  whom  they  were  intended,  the 
three  friends  around  the  fire  in  the  pocket  of  the 
sand-hill  down  the  shore.  Before  the  first  strain 
had  died  away,  the  three  men  leaped  to  their  feet 
and  listened  intently.  Long  before  the  stalwart 
form  of  the  singer  came  in  view,  they  recognized 
his  voice,  and  then  these  red  men  knew  that  he 
who  was  approaching  came  with  full  knowledge 


First  Citizen  of  the  Parkovash       201 

of  their  presence,  that  lie  desired  to  {)articipatc 
in  their  dehberations,  and  that  it  might  be  neither 
a  judicious  thing  nor  an  easy  one  to  put  off  the 
Frenchman  who  could  read  their  secret  thoughts 
and  whose  counsel  had  ever  been  wise  and  good. 
And  it  might  be  that  the  white  man  could  speak 
the  word  that  should  lift  the  burden  of  anxiety 
now  weighing  down  the  spirits  of  Pokagon,  Tope- 
in-a-bee,  and  The  Black  Partridge. 

The  singer  walked  forward  into  the  full  moon- 
light, lowered  his  voice,  and  then  came  on  in 
silence.  He  sat  down  on  a  log  that  lay  just  beyond 
the  reach  of  the  waves  and  immediately  in  front 
of  the  great  white  sand-pile  near  whose  summit 
was  the  depression  marked  by  the  signal-smoke 
in  the  early  morning.  The  scout  held  a  handful 
of  pebbles  which  he  cast  one  by  one  into  the  face 
of  the  advancing  wave.  The  Indians  above  were 
peering  down  through  the  branches  of  some  of 
the  dwarf  cedars  with  which  the  sand-pocket  was 
lined.  But  neither  the  human  form  at  the  water's 
edge  nor  the  three  friends  at  the  hill-top  gave  any 
other  signs  of  conscious  life,  until  the  moon  had 
traversed  a  considerable  arc  of  her  farther  journey 
through  the  skies.  The  red  men  must  first  deter- 
mine and  fix  in  their  minds  what  information  they 


202  Tales  of  Kankakee  Land 

are  willing  to  impart  freely,  and  what  secrets  they 
will  endeavor  to  withhold.  At  length  The  Black 
Partridge  leaped  across  an  outer  branch  of  the 
cedar  and  slid  down  the  yielding  sand  to  the  level  of 
the  beach,  as  noiseless  in  his  descent  as  the  hill's 
shadow  in  which  he  now  stood.  This  Indian 
was  happy  to  be  known  by  the  name  of  a  bird 
which  we  of  this  day  call  the  ruffed  grouse,  a 
proud,  beautiful,  and  singularly  intelligent  creat- 
ure, whose  most  peculiar  characteristic  is  the  habit 
of  perching  on  a  log  in  the  moonlight  during 
spring-time  and  attracting  its  fellows  by  drumming 
on  the  log  with  its  wings.  So,  the  Indian  by  some 
strange  skill  of  articulation,  a  nice  art  which  long 
practice  had  enabled  him  to  acquire,  gave  the 
low,  booming  sound  of  this  grouse,  or  partridge. 
The  scout,  perfectly  familiar  with  the  call  of  every 
creature  in  the  wilderness,  perceived  the  meaning 
of  the  gentle  summons,  smiled  at  the  ingenious 
welcome,  turned,  and  then  came  forward  with 
both  hands  extended  to  greet  the  Pottowattomie 
chief. 

Chandonnai  and  the  red  men  were  soon  seated 
on  the  evergreen  boughs  with  which  the  ground 
was  thickly  strewn  on  all  sides  of  a  glowing  fire- 
hole,  or  hearth,  at  the  centre  of  the  sand-pocket. 


First  Citizen  of  the  Parkovash       208 

The  Indians  discovered  that  the  Frenchman  had 
brought  with  him  a  handful  of  pink  flowers,  the 
fragrant  buds  and  blossoms  of  the  trailing  arbutus, 
a  plant  sacred  to  the  Pottowattomies  and  to  all 
native  tribes  that  dwelt  in  the  region  of  the  Great 
Lakes.  The  flower  was  associated  with  certain 
of  their  legends  revealing  the  Great  Spirit's  interest 
in  their  welfare.  Chandonnai  knew  well  a  bank 
rich  in  the  spicy  odor  of  the  arbutus,  and  he  had 
gathered  the  flowers  in  passing,  since  he  wished 
to  appeal  to  the  religious  instincts  of  these  red 
men.  Each  of  the  latter  received  a  strand  of  the 
fragrant  blossoms  and  pressed  it  to  his  lips  and 
nostrils.  Then  all  sat  in  silence  while  a  carved 
pipe-bowl  with  long  decorated  stem  was  filled 
again  and  again  and  passed  many  times  from  one 
to  another.  At  length  the  scout  began  to  say  that 
he  had  recently  returned  from  Detroit  where  he 
had  conversed  with  the  priest  who  formerly  had 
visited  from  time  to  time  the  villages  of  the  Potto- 
wattomies. He  then  drew  from  his  bosom  a 
small  packet  which  the  priest  had  sent  to  Pokagon 
and  which  was  found  to  contain  a  bottle  of  holy- 
water  and,  also,  one  of  sacred  oil  for  anointing 
the  body  of  a  dying  person.  The  priest  had,  more- 
over, written  out  certain  careful  directions  for  a 


204  Tales  of  Kankakee  Land 

burial-service,  and  the  lines  of  a  simple  prayer 
which  the  children  might  be  taught  to  repeat. 

From  his  youth  Pokagon  had  striven  assiduously 
to  comprehend  the  Christian  faith  and  to  follow 
its  teachings,  and  the  instructions  of  the  priest 
were  in  response  to  the  Indian's  request  to  be 
shown  what  course  to  pursue  in  order  that  the 
truths  of  the  white  man's  religion  might  be  kept 
alive  in  the  hearts  of  the  people.  Tope-in-a-bee  and 
The  Black  Partridge — who  had  been  in  the  past 
only  slightly  submissive  to  Christian  influence — 
were  greatly  moved  at  sight  of  the  oil  and  the  holy- 
water,  and  begged  to  be  allowed  to  test  the  efficacy 
of  the  former  and  to  touch  a  drop  of  the  latter 
to  their  tongues.  But  the  scout  insisted  that  these 
things  must  not  be  put  to  such  use,  that  their  pur- 
pose was  not  to  refresh  the  body  but  to  sustain 
the  spirit.  Withholding  these  visible  and  tangible 
elements  only  stimulated  the  natural  curiosity  of 
their  simple  natures. 

They  were  in  a  frame  of  mind  to  look  into  these 
mysteries.  The  arbutus  flowers  had  turned  their 
thoughts  toward  the  spiritual  ideas  of  their  own 
people,  and  while  musing  thus  they  might  heed 
more  carefully  those  of  the  Christian  faith.  In 
explaining  the  use  of  the  symbols  provided  through 


First  Citizen  of  the  Parkova.sh       205 

the  kindness  of  the  priest,  the  Frenchman  was  led 
on  to  say  that  he  had  often  thought  that  the  Great 
Spirit  whom  their  fathers  had  worshipped  was 
none  other  than  the  God  of  the  Christian.  ''There- 
fore," said  the  scout,  *'you  and  all  good  Indians 
should  help  the  chief  Pokagon  in  his  pious  efforts 
to  instruct  the  people.  So,  your  children  may 
be  happy  in  this  life  and  prepared  for  the  life  to 
come;  and  so,  worshipping  the  same  great  God, 
they  will  wish  to  be  at  peace  with  their  white 
brothers."  Tope-in-a-bee  and  The  Black  Par- 
tridge took  the  chief  Pokagon  by  the  hand  and 
pledged  him  their  support. 

Chandonnai  had  spoken  from  the  heart,  and  yet, 
had  he  studied  his  part  with  even  greater  care, 
he  could  not  have  hit  upon  a  more  cunning  policy. 
This  appeal  had  been  to  their  best  and  deepest 
instincts.  Not  deeming  it  expedient,  however, 
that  he  should  then  follow  up  the  advantage 
gained,  he  turned  abruptly  to  The  Black  Partridge 
and  asked:  "Are  the  hearts  of  your  young  men 
now  inclined  to  peace?"  At  this  the  Indians 
moved  uneasily.  The  chief  from  the  lower  Kan- 
kakee averted  his  glance  as  he  confessed  that  his 
people  were  not  so  inclined. 

"Last   summer,"   said    the   Frenchman,    "the 


206  Tales  of  Kankakee  Land 

Great  White  Father  sent  you  many  blankets. 
Since  then  the  snows  have  come  and  gone;  did 
not  the  blankets  keep  you  warm?" 

"The  Great  Father  sent  us  good  blankets," 
said  The  Black  Partridge. 

''I  have  not  heard,"  the  scout  continued,  "that 
the  trader  Burnett  returned  to  you  a  small  price 
for  your  furs." 

The  Indians  shrugged  their  shoulders,  as  though 
some  ground  of  complaint  might  here  be  found, 
if  looked  for.  But  the  scout — not  forgetting  the 
hint  that  Burnett  was  in  disfavor — knew  well  that 
there  must  be  some  more  substantial  reason 
why  the  young  men  were  not  now  inclined  to 
peace.  So  he  continued  his  interrogations,  hop- 
ing to  draw  out  some  explanation  of  the  causes 
that  were  leading  up  to  the  threatened  Indian 
revolt. 

"Has  the  English  Father  sent  his  servants  from 
Maiden,"  said  the  scout,  "to  whisper  evil  words 
in  the  ears  of  the  young  men?"  The  Indians 
glanced  from  side  to  side,  but  they  neither  moved 
their  bodies  nor  uttered  a  syllable  in  response. 
The  silence  of  some  minutes  was  finally  broken 
by  the  war-chief  of  the  St.  Joseph,  who  avoided 
the  question,  volunteering,  however,  an  important 


First  Citizen  of  the  Farhovash       207 

disclosure.  With  a  scowl  of  disapproval,  showing 
his  own  feeling  in  the  matter,  he  hissed  out, 
"Tecumseh,  the  Shawnee!" 

''Tecumseh,"  laughed  Chandonnai,  "and  what 
has  he  been  able  to  do?" 

''He  has  made  my  people  hate  The  Black  Par- 
tridge!" said  the  Kankakee  chief.  "For  half  a 
moon  he  tarried  in  our  lodges.  Sitting  in  the 
council  of  the  old  men,  he  begged  them  to  show 
the  people  that  he  was  wrong,  but  no  tongue 
could  deny  his  word.  He  called  the  young  men 
about  him  and  spoke  in  words  soft  and  low,  de- 
clared that  the  Great  Spirit  would  help  them 
to  drive  the  pale  face  beyond  the  mountains  in 
the  East,  and  that  it  was  the  will  of  the  Great 
Spirit  for  none  but  his  red  children  to  possess  the 
land.  The  women  and  children  ran  forth  and 
gathered  in  the  midst  of  the  warriors  that  they 
might  hear  the  voice  of  the  Shawnee.  When  all 
stood  in  silence,  he  spoke  again;  but  now  his  face 
was  a  thunder-cloud,  the  flashes  of  his  eye  were 
the  fiery  glances  of  Pauguk,  his  swift  words  had 
wings.  And  I,  I  alone,  withstood  him.  I  warned 
the  people  that  Tecumseh  had  stolen  away  their 
reason,  that  they  w^re  beside  themselves  with  a 
hope  that  must  fail,  that  when  Tecumseh's  folly 


208  Tales  of  Kankakee  Land 

had  kindled  the  anger  of  the  Great  White  Father, 
the  children  of  the  pale  face  would  cut  us  off 
utterly  from  the  land.  But  my  people  scorned 
me,  for  my  utterance  is  weak,  and  the  sayings  of 
the  Shawnee  were  pleasant  to  their  ears.  I  could 
do  no  more,  for  he  who  deceived  the  people  turned 
on  me  with  his  swift  speech.  He  stamped  on 
the  ground,  and  the  warriors  stood  still,  the  women 
shed  tears,  and  the  children  cried  out  in  wild  alarm. 
He  stamped  on  the  ground  again,  and  all  the  lodges 
shook.  He  stamped  again,  and  a  fierce  blast 
swept  in  from  the  lake,  whistled  and  screamed 
through  the  reeds,  and  tore  the  green  leaves  from 
the  village  oak.  Then  the  young  men  declared 
that  the  words  of  Tecumseh  were  the  promises 
of  the  Great  Spirit!" 

The  chief  paused  to  study  the  effect  of  his  words. 
But  the  set  features  of  the  Frenchman  completely 
masked  his  real  emotions.  He  knew  that  the 
region  whose  interests  he  was  seeking  to  safe- 
guard might  soon  be  face  to  face  with  one  of  those 
semi-religious  uprisings,  such  as  Indian  commu- 
nities have  been  prone  to  from  very  ancient  times. 
In  the  old  days,  these  fanatical  eruptions,  where 
the  prophet's  vision  has  aroused  the  warrior's  zeal, 
seem  to  have  united  at  certain  periods  a  con- 


First  Citizen  of  the  Parkovash      209 

federacy  of  many  tribes  against  any  or  all  others, 
and  within  the  historic  era  have  several  times 
turned  the  whole  force  of  the  wilderness  against 
the  Anglo-Saxon  border-land.  Chandonnai  might 
confidently  hope  that  some  means  would  be  found 
to  check  for  a  time  this  wave  of  savage  frenzy, 
though  no  man  could  say  what  loss  humanity 
might  suffer  before  these  mad  energies  had  spent 
themselves.  He  would  do  what  might  be  done, 
yet  it  did  not  seem  that  such  ends  could  be  fur- 
thered by  augmenting  in  any  way  the  alarm  with 
which  it  was  evident  the  three  chiefs  were  now 
sorely  distressed. 

"Is  Tecumseh  still  with  your  young  men?"  he 
asked  of  The  Black  Partridge. 

Being  answered  that  the  Shawnee  had  departed 
a  few  days  before  for  the  villages  of  their  people 
in  the  Wisconsin  woods,  he  urged  the  Kankakee 
chief  to  return  home  and  continue  his  prudent 
counsels  in  the  hope  that  reason  would  regain  its 
sway  in  the  minds  of  some.  "I  will  come  to  your 
lodge  on  the  third  night,"  he  added.  ''Together 
we  must  win  them  back." 

"The  Shawnee  has  promised  the  young  men," 
said  Pokagon,  "that  they  shall  come  with  him 
to  this  place  to  help  him  rouse  the  towns  on  our 


210  Tales  of  Kankakee  Land 

river,  after  our  people  beyond  the  lake  have 
received  his  words." 

''When  he  enters  the  Parkovash,"  said  Chan- 
donnai,  "  my  shadow  shall  dog  his  steps  until  he 
has  departed  from  the  land.  We  must  stand  together 
firmly  and  have  our  answers  ready  for  his  artful 
speech.  We  may  yet  confuse  him,  so  that  the 
warriors  will  stand  aloof  from  his  lies  and  his  wicked 
cause." 

Tope-in-a-bee  and  Pokagon,  comforted  by  the 
scout's  firm  words,  each  seized  one  of  the  French- 
man's hands  and  pressed  it  fervently,  while  tears 
of  gratitude  shone  in  their  eyes.  The  scout  then 
turned  away,  climbed  up  the  outer  wall  of  the 
sand-pocket,  leaped  over,  and  descended  in  safety 
to  the  beach.  He  passed  up  the  shore,  and  re- 
turned as  he  had  come,  musing  deeply  and  pausing 
now  and  then  with  a  sigh  that  told  of  sad  fears 
and  forebodings  from  which  the  heart  of  Chan- 
donnai  would  not  soon  be  free. 


XI 

THE  RESCUE 

Late  in  the  afternoon  of  August  i6,  1812,  a 
woman  lying  in  the  bottom  of  a  long  Indian  canoe 
raised  herself  on  one  elbow,  and  then  turned  her 
head  from  side  to  side  searching  for  some  glimpse 
of  land.  The  frail  vessel  was  riding  on  the  waters 
of  Lake  Michigan  and  just  out  of  sight  of  the 
southern  shore.  The  woman  was  the  wife  of 
Captain  Heald,  the  late  commander  of  Fort  Dear- 
born, whose  garrison  had  this  day  suffered  the 
extreme  horrors  of  Indian  warfare  and  had  gone 
down  under  the  terrible  blow  so  long  threatened 
and  for  which  the  red  man  had  carefully  prepared. 

Having  finally  caught  sight  of  the  low  cloud  of 
smoke  in  the  West  marking  the  location  of  the 
ruined  fort,  Mrs.  Heald  drew  a  deep  sigh  as  the 
horrible  reality  of  their  cruel  fate  forced  itself 
on  her  reviving  consciousness.  She  dipped  one 
hand  in  the  water  and  bathed  her  forehead  and 
eyes,  sighing  again  as  she  did  so;  for  she  had  been 

311 


212  Tales  of  Kankakee  Land 

in  a  heavy  stupor  for  some  hours,  the  result  of 
nervous  exhaustion  and  many  severe  flesh-wounds. 
She  had  been  aroused  by  her  companion,  who 
needed  a  blanket  from  the  pile  on  which  she  was 
lying.  A  light  wind  had  sprung  up,  drifting  out 
on  to  the  lake  from  the  Illinois  prairies,  a  most 
welcome  breeze,  since  it  would  help  them  across 
these  dangerous  waters.  A  sail  could  be  im- 
provised out  of  the  blanket.  Two  other  canoes 
were  drifting  by  the  side  of  this  one,  and  their 
occupants  were  also  rigging  up  a  few  yards  of 
canvas  to  catch  the  inviting  airs  which  Heaven 
seemed  to  have  sent  this  way. 

"Where  is  he?"  were  the  first  words  that  broke 
from  the  lips  over  which  reason  had  now  regained 
its  sway. 

"Your  husband  is  safe,"  said  her  companion. 
"The  Black  Partridge  and  his  band  have  taken 
him  with  others  to  their  lodges  on  the  Kankakee 
and  will  conduct  him  to  your  side  in  a  few  days." 

The  speaker  was  Chandonnai,  the  American 
scout.  As  he  talked  he  worked  on  at  the  task  of 
putting  up  the  rude  sail.  Those  in  the  other 
canoes  were  listening  attentively,  for  the  scout 
proceeded  to  give  the  details  of  the  woman's  rescue 
from  the  hands  of  the  savages  who  had  been  about 


The  Rescue  213 

to  take  her  life.  An  old  horse,  together  with  a  jug 
of  whiskey  from  the  fort  and  a  few  beads  and  other 
trinkets — these  things  had  been  the  price  of  the 
woman's  ransom.  Mrs.  Heald  was  then  informed 
that  they  were  now  endeavoring  to  cross  Lake 
Michigan;  that  they  had  pushed  far  out  into  the 
open  sea  with  all  haste  to  avoid  pursuit,  and 
because  such  a  route,  though  hazardous  in  rough 
weather,  was  safe  enough  in  present  conditions, 
and  was  a  direct  line  to  the  harbor  of  the  St. 
Joseph.  A  secure  asylum  in  the  lodges  of  the 
St.  Joseph  was  offered  by  the  chief  Pokagon  and 
his  friend,  the  war-chief,  Tope-in-a-bee.  The 
former  was  now  rigging  a  sail  in  the  canoe  on  the 
left,  and  the  industrious  paddle  of  the  latter  had 
brought  the  remaining  one  thus  far  in  their  jour- 
ney. The  passengers  with  the  two  Indians  were 
the  trader  Kinzie  and  his  family. 

The  little  vessels  were  soon  on  their  way  again. 
Broken  food — which  some  of  their  number  had 
snatched  from  the  wreck  of  affairs  at  the  fort — 
was  passed  from  one  to  another.  Then  all,  except 
those  tending  the  sails,  fell  asleep,  soothed  by  the 
breeze  and  the  easy  motion  of  the  canoes,  and  by  a 
sense  of  heavenly  relief  to  escape,  at  last,  from 
those  awful  scenes  at  the  ruined  fort.    The  day 


214  Tales  of  Kankakee  Land 

wore  along,  evening  came,  and  the  sun  spread 
a  fiery  floor  over  the  cool  blue  waters  of  the  sea, 
and   then   dropped   from   its   place   in   the   sky. 

Slowly  the  stars  stole  out  one  by  one,  and  the 
gentle  breeze  blew  on.  The  shifting  constella- 
tions in  the  dark  vault  of  the  heavens  alone  marked 
the  flight  of  the  weary  hours.  The  East  had  begun 
to  purple  in  the  presence  of  the  new  day,  when  the 
dim  outline  of  the  Michigan  woods  rose  on  the 
grateful  vision  of  the  waking  refugees.  Slowly, 
all  too  slowly,  the  canoes  crept  over  the  intervening 
distance,  until  the  individual  trees  began  to  stand 
out  and  apart  from  their  fellows  and  each  bolder 
prominence  to  rise  higher  and  higher.  It  was  in 
the  full  light  of  day  and  with  the  wind  dying  out 
of  their  useless  sails  that  they  pushed  cautiously 
over  the  bar,  and  then  swept  most  eagerly  within 
the  protecting  arms  of  the  high  bluffs  and  low  sand- 
hills that  encircle  the  harbor  of  the  St.  Joseph. 

They  paused  on  the  shore  while  the  scout  ran  to 
the  top  of  the  bluff  and  paced  up  and  down  with 
his  glass,  searching  the  smooth  floor  of  the  sea 
and  every  point  of  the  sky-line  to  know  certainly 
that  they  were  not  pursued.  But  the  evidence 
of  their  entire  safety  was  not  as  conclusive  as  he 
might  have  wished,  for  in  places  heavy  clouds  of 


The  Rescue  215 

mist  were  lifting  slowly.  Still,  it  was  felt  that 
they  must  risk  the  danger  of  a  brief  delay  at  the 
Burnett  trading-post;  wounds  must  be  dressed 
and  nourishing  food  must  be  had  at  almost  any 
hazard. 

So  the  canoes  passed  on  to  the  landing  above 
the  ford,  while  Chandonnai  remained  on  the 
bluff  to  give  timely  warning  of  any  approaching 
foe.  To  tarry  at  the  post  more  than  a  few  hours 
was  not  to  be  thought  of,  for  this  place  had  been 
referred  to  by  the  Indians  at  Fort  Dearborn  as  the 
next  point  of  attack.  When  the  time  for  its  de- 
struction would  arrive,  no  man  might  declare; 
but  should  the  attack  be  made,  the  place  must 
surely  fall.  Therefore,  the  slanting  rays  of  the 
afternoon  sun  saw  the  travellers  once  more  on  the 
river,  and  still  another  afternoon  had  wellnigh 
slipped  away  before  they  passed  the  homes  of 
Tope-in-a-bee's  band.  But  not  even  in  this  place 
could  they  remain  and  hope  for  peace  and  security. 
The  town  was  too  much  exposed,  and  among  its 
inhabitants  were  many  sorely  disaffected  warriors. 
But  when  they  reached  the  landing  at  the  ford 
of  the  Sauk  trail,  they  gladly  left  behind  the 
watery  highway  of  their  wearisome  and  perilous 
journey.    Thoughts  of  the  awful  tragedy    from 


216  Tales  of  Kankakee  Land 

whose  scenes  they  had  fled  must  have  weighed 
heavily  on  the  spirits  of  these  rescued  ones,  as  they 
filed  up  the  trail  from  the  ford  and  then  wound 
through  the  hills  toward  the  lodges  of  Pokagon's 
town.  And  then,  after  all,  might  it  not  prove 
untrue  that  this  Pokagon's  heart  knew  no  guile? 

All  such  doubts  were  dispelled,  however,  when 
the  village  had  found  an  opportunity  of  adding 
to  its  generous  hospitality  many  of  the  truly  tender 
ministrations  that  spring  so  freely  for  those  who 
have  won  the  sympathy  of  the  red  man.  They 
had  found  faithful  friends  and  a  place  of  safety. 
Here  Captain  Heald  joined  them  in  a  few  days. 

Fields  of  grain  now  cover  the  spot  where  this 
village  of  the  Pottowattomies  once  stood.  When 
heavy  rains  have  washed  the  freshly  ploughed 
ground,  the  antiquarian  will  show  you  where  a 
few  blue  glass  beads  may  be  found,  or  an  arrow- 
point,  or  perhaps  a  fish-spear.  On  a  neighboring 
rise  of  ground  he  will  brush  aside  the  fallen  beech- 
leaves  to  point  out  a  slab  of  limestone,  like  those 
in  the  river  at  Fort  St.  Joseph.  The  stone  was  once 
the  threshold  of  a  church — a  Christian  church, 
albeit  one  made  of  logs — which  Pokagon  and  his 
friends  built  in  this  place  with  much  care  and 
great  labor.     One  may  trace  the  building's  ample 


The  Rescue  217 

dimensions  from  the  depressions  in  the  soil  where 
the  wooden  foundations,  as  well  as  all  other  parts 
of  the  structure,  have  succumbed  to  complete 
decay.  This  church  edifice  was  the  work  of  fond 
hearts — Indian  hearts.  Pokagon  himself  had 
kept  up  at  least  the  outward  form  of  Christian 
worship  during  a  period  of  many  years  after  the 
missionaries  had  left  the  country.  And,  finally, 
because  of  his  earnest  entreaty,  a  priest  was  sent 
to  them.  Their  sires  had  taught  them  much 
about  the  Great  Spirit,  but  the  Christian  had 
taught  them  much  more,  and  the  new  faith  must 
not  perish  from  among  the  people.  Americans 
may  not  forget  this  spot,  since  it  is  one  where  the 
love  of  Christ  found  permanent  lodgment  in  an 
Indian's  bosom ;  and  for  that  reason  the  red  man's 
home  became  an  asylum  for  our  unfortunate 
countrymen  in  the  season  of  their  dire  distress. 
One  may  walk  down  to  the  springs  again  and 
refresh  himself  from  their  cold  floods,  which  now, 
as  in  the  past,  have  never  been  known  to  fail.  But 
he  will  find  little  else  to  suggest  the  old  life,  unless 
it  be  the  shocks  of  Indian  corn  that  stand  where 
the  lodges  once  tapered  up  at  this  old  town  of  the 
good  and  wise  Pokagon. 

The  Kinzies  were  conducted  by  Chandonnai 


218  Tales  of  Kankakee  Land 

far  to  the  north  and  east,  and  finally  brought  by 
secret  and  roundabout  paths  to  friends  in  Detroit. 
But  Captain  Heald  and  his  wife  lingered  until 
they  might  recover  from  their  wounds.  Neither 
they  nor  their  host,  however,  felt  that  perfect 
security  would  long  be  possible  in  this  place.  The 
great  Sauk  trail  was  near  the  village,  and  strange 
red  men  were  coming  and  going.  The  story  of 
the  rescue  of  this  white  man  and  his  wife  could 
not  fail  to  reach  the  distant  camp-fires  of  their 
foes. 

Nor  did  such  forebodings  prove  groundless;  for 
one  day  the  rumor  came  that  the  young  men  in  one 
of  the  Wisconsin  villages  were  about  to  strike  the 
trail,  and  that  it  was  their  hope  to  seize  again  these 
trembling  refugees  and  lay  fagots  at  their  feet  in 
the  far-away  towns  of  their  conquerors.  Not  a 
moment  must  be  lost.  Pokagon  hurried  his 
proteges  down  the  trail  to  the  landing,  where  the 
canoes,  quickly  launched  and  manned,  shot  down 
the  current  and  sped  away  and  away  to  the  harbor 
at  the  river's  mouth,  and  out  into  the  waves  of 
the  great  sea.  When  they  were  quite  across  the 
heavy  swell  from  the  lake,  the  prows  turned  north. 
The  line  of  the  canoes  held  to  an  even  unvarying 
speed  until  they  had  rounded  the  first  bold  promon- 


The  Rescue  219 

tory  a  few  miles  from  the  harbor,  and  then  all 
stood  still  while  the  last  of  the  line  swept  past. 
^^Bon  voyage! ^^  cried  out  some  of  the  boatmen  in 
soft,  low  tones,  while  others  called  on  a  Christian 
saint.  Not  a  few,  however,  mentioned  the  names 
of  heathen  divinities,  some  of  the  tutelary  gods — 
such  as  the  Spirit  of  the  Great  Fish,  the  Great 
Turtle,  the  Great  Swan — into  whose  care  and 
keeping  they  desired  to  consign  their  friends  now 
speeding  on  their  perilous  journey. 

The  three  occupants  of  this  last  canoe  were 
the  Captain  and  his  wife  and  Chandonnai.  The 
scout  had  insisted  that  all  others  should  yield  to 
him  the  difficult  task  of  conducting  the  refugees 
to  Mackinac  Island,  the  sacred  spot  where  no 
Indian  might  take  the  life  of  any  human  being. 
By  dint  of  tireless  energy  at  the  paddle  and  the 
blessed  fortune  of  light  winds  favoring  their  course, 
they  worked  their  way  down  the  whole  length 
of  Lake  Michigan.  In  the  forest-wall  bordering 
the  lake  were  certain  clefts  where  one  might 
find  the  mouth  of  a  river,  the  Kalamazoo,  the 
Grand,  the  Muskegon.  They  would  not  venture 
past  these  places  except  under  cover  of  darkness. 
If  no  open  enemy  should  be  lurking  in  the  neigh- 
borhood, they  were  still  the  places  where  the  flight 


220  Tales  of  Kankakee  Land 

of  the  fugitives  would  certainly  be  observed,  and 
no  one  could  foretell  the  effect  of  the  rumors  thus 
set  in  motion.  This  dangerous  headland,  whose 
angry  waters  they  avoid,  is  Point  Au  Sable,  and 
that  one  is  The  Sleeping  Bear,  with  the  mysterious 
islands  of  the  Manitou  on  the  faint,  far-off  sky-line 
of  the  West.  Here  are  the  twin  bays,  and  just  be- 
yond are  the  villages  of  the  Ottawas.  At  length  they 
turn  into  the  straits  and  come  all  in  safety  to  the 
beach  of  Mackinac  Island,  where  they  find  Cap- 
tain Roberts  of  the  English  army.  Delivered 
into  his  care,  these  grateful  survivors  of  the  Fort 
Dearborn  massacre  were  promptly  sent  forward 
to  their  friends  in  the  East. 

Chief  Pokagon  having  parted  with  his  white 
friends  on  the  lake,  held  his  way  back  to  the  harbor, 
returning  to  his  forest-home.  Let  us  follow  him. 
He  is  in  a  meditative  mood,  as  the  canoes  standing 
in  near  to  the  bank  work  their  tedious  way  up  the 
St.  Joseph.  He  cannot  shut  out  some  thoughts 
of  the  wrongs  his  race  has  suffered  at  the  hands 
of  the  oppressor ;  he  thinks  of  the  unequal  contest, 
whose  issue  is  now  each  day  more  plain ;  he  thinks 
of  his  part  in  shielding  these  victims  whom  an 
avenging  fate  seemed  to  have  dedicated  to  the 
fury  of  the  red  man.     But  something  tells  him 


The  Rescue  221 

that  his  deed  of  mercy  has  been  a  worthy  one. 
Is  it  the  voice  of  the  Great  Spirit  that  he  hears? 
or  is  it  only  the  breeze  rattling  the  stems  of  the 
wild  rice  that  everywhere  fringe  the  banks  and 
swing  their  tasselled  tops  high  in  air?  Yet,  when 
his  feet  stand  once  more  on  the  venerable  Sauk 
trail,  the  ancient  path  of  his  fathers,  there  comes 
o'er  his  soul  the  old  longing  that  wakes  in  every 
Indian  breast — not  a  hope  but  only  a  deep  desire — 
that  the  Great  Spirit  would  cause  the  white  man 
to  fade  away,  and  that  none  but  moccasoned  feet 
should  approach  the  river's  brink  or  stand  in  the 
cool  aisles  of  the  forest.  He  wishes  that  the 
cattle,  the  sheep,  and  the  swine  might  go  to  their 
heaven,  and  that  the  buffalo  cows  might  come 
again  to  the  Parkovash.  But  at  this  moment  his 
eyes  fall  on  the  high  cedar  cross  that  rises  from 
the  hill-top  where  the  dead  are  sleeping,  and  he 
thinks  of  the  good  priest  who  first  taught  him  a 
Christian  prayer.  Then  he  knows  that  these 
things  cannot  and  must  not  be.  He  pauses  in  the 
path  until  the  others  have  passed  on.  They  think 
that  he  waits  to  offer  a  pious  salutation  to  the 
spirits  of  the  dead,  as  red  men  are  wont  to  do. 
But  when  he  is  alone,  this  Pokagon,  chief  of  the 
Pottowattomies,   facing   the  symbol   of  the  new 


222  Tales  of  Kankakee  Land 

faith,  crosses  himself  and,  turning  his  eyes  to  the 
sky,  begs  the  Blessed  Virgin  to  touch  the  hearts 
of  his  people  and  warm  their  bosoms  with  enduring 
love  for  the  white  brother. 


XII 

THE  STORY  OF  THE  FIRST  WAGON 

To-day,  as  for  fifty  years  past,  the  Sauk  trail 
bears  the  name  of  the  Chicago  Road,  having  re- 
ceived such  a  name  when  the  Government  had 
smoothed  and  straightened  its  course  from  Detroit 
to  Chicago.  By  such  means  it  became  one  of  the 
mightiest  of  those  great  arteries  through  which 
in  the  early  days  the  vigorous  currents  of  Anglo- 
Saxon  life  began  to  run  toward  the  remote  parts 
of  the  far  West.  But  the  first  wheels  to  sink  a 
furrow  on  either  side  of  the  old  path  were  not 
those  of  the  white  man's  wagon.  Priority  in  this 
matter  must  be  conceded  to  Pokagon's  wagon  that 
first  rumbled  out  of  old  Pokagon  Town  and  along 
the  sinuous  course  of  his  people's  ancient  highway. 
As  proud  as  any  conquering  monarch  in  his 
golden  chariot  was  this  red  chieftain  trundling 
through  the  forest  and  across  the  prairie  in  his 
brave  contrivance  which,  he  trusted,  should  con- 
vince the  world  that  the  Indian  might  master  the 
arts  of  the  pale  face. 

223 


224  Tales   of  Kankakee  Land 

Just  when  this  wagon  was  built  we  do  not  know, 
except  that  it  was  in  the  first  years  of  the  nine- 
teenth century  and  probably  before  the  Fort 
Dearborn  massacre.  The  vehicle  continued  to 
do  service  for  many  years,  and  was  at  the  time  a 
matter  of  no  little  astonishment  to  the  early  inhab- 
itants of  the  region.  One  of  the  latter  was  accus- 
tomed to  recall  "a  day  back  in  the  twenties" 
when  he  had  beheld  a  strange  apparition  moving 
across  the  prairie  at  a  good,  vigorous  gait.  As 
the  equipage  drew  nearer,  it  proved  to  be  Pokagon's 
famous  wagon,  and  the  chief  himself  was  holding 
the  reins  over  a  horse  and  a  steer  that  had  been 
harnessed  together  and  were  working  as  sub- 
missively as  one  could  desire.  The  royal  car 
rolled  away  to  the  south;  for  in  that  direction  and 
near  at  hand  lay  the  Dragoon  Trace,  a  kind  of 
rude  military  road,  or  path,  that  led  from  Fort 
Wayne  to  Fort  Dearborn.  A  troop  of  United 
States  cavalry,  or  dragoons,  as  they  were  then 
called,  was  coming  up  the  path,  and  the  chief 
doubtless  desired  the  soldiers  to  know  that  there 
was  one  red  man  who  had  learned  how  to  make 
a  wagon  and  how  to  use  it. 

On  this  occasion  there  happened  to  be  with 
the  troops  a  clergyman  going  through  to  Fort 


I'okagon's  famuus  wagon 


The  Storij  of  the  First  Wagon        225 

Dearborn,  and  on  his  account  they  halted  for 
a  close  inspection  of  Pottowattomie  workmanship. 
The  surprise  of  these  and  all  beholders  was  not 
alone  because  an  Indian  had  worked  out  the 
device,  but  because  the  design  of  the  wagon  was 
totally  different  from  every  other  manner  of 
vehicle  to  be  seen  in  the  country.  It  was  not  one 
of  those  huge  "arks"  such  as  rolled  out  of  Penn- 
sylvania and  Virginia  in  the  early  days;  nor  was 
it  the  lighter  conveyance  of  a  ''York  State"  gar- 
dener; nor  yet  was  it  a  chaise,  or  gig,  such  as  an  of- 
ficial dignitary  might  sometimes  have  used  even  in 
the  wilderness.  The  clergyman  declared  that  the 
curious  construction  was  in  many  ways  the  coun- 
terpart of  the  ancient  carts  depicted  on  the  old 
Egyptian  tombs  and  still  used  in  Oriental  coun- 
tries. 

And  such,  indeed,  was  Pokagon's  wagon;  for  it 
consisted  of  a  stout  frame,  not  unlike  a  low  wood- 
rack,  surmounted  by  a  comfortable  seat  and  sup- 
ported on  a  strong,  heavy  axle.  Nicely  fitted  to 
this  axle  were  the  two  massive  wheels,  each  from 
six  to  seven  inches  in  thickness  and  not  less  than 
two  and  a  half  feet  in  diameter.  They  were  cross- 
sections  of  the  trunk  of  a  great  white  oak.  A 
close  examination  of  the  wheels  showed  that  they 


226  Tales  of  Kankakee  Land 

had  not  been  worked  out  with  a  saw,  but  had  been 
dressed  to  shape  by  alternate  burning  and  scrap- 
ing, just  as  the  aborigines  have  for  ages  shaped 
and  hollowed  out  logs  to  make  their  light  shell- 
canoes.  And  this  Indian's  wagon  was  painted 
red,  as  any  Indian's  should  be. 

The  soldiers  riding  away  speculated  long  on 
the  origin  of  the  strange  device.  What  had  sug- 
gested the  Oriental  pattern  to  this  Indian  far  off 
in  the  forests  of  the  Northwest  country?  On  this 
point,  unfortunately,  the  chief  had  always  main- 
tained a  dogged  silence.  He  would  tell  no  man 
why  he  had  made  his  wagon  thus.  Nor  was  his 
conduct  without  sufficient  reason,  if  we  may  trust 
what  tradition  says  of  him.  For,  when  he  was  a 
youth — so  it  is  said — he  cared  little  for  the  arts 
of  the  pale  face.  It  was  as  a  warrior  that  he 
would  win  renown.  Thus  had  his  fathers  done. 
Yet  in  this  stormy  period  of  his  young  manhood 
it  was  that  his  mind  had  seized  upon  this  pattern 
for  a  wagon.  But  when  or  where  he  had  found 
his  model  no  man  could  learn  from  him,  since  any 
discussion  of  the  matter  must  call  up  the  days  and 
the  scenes  which  now  he  would  have  all  men 
forget. 

It  cannot  be  denied  that  this  same  wise  Pokagon 


The  Story  of  the  First  Wagon         227 

when  a  young  man  led  his  braves  on  the  war-path. 
And  what  pains  they  were  at  to  find  the  enemy! 
The  length  of  the  red  man's  war-path  seems  almost 
incredible.  The  Iroquois  of  Central  New  York 
often  found  their  foes  beyond  the  mountains  of 
Georgia.  The  Comanches  of  Northern  Texas 
rode  over  a  trail  whose  length  was  more  than 
twice  the  distance  from  Chicago  to  the  mouth  of 
the  Hudson  River,  while  our  Pottowattomics  often 
sought  a  field  for  their  warlike  manoeuvres  along 
the  banks  of  those  rivers  that  are  tributary  to  the 
Arkansas  and  the  Missouri.  When  Lieutenant 
Pike  was  sent  put  by  our  Government,  in  1806, 
to  explore  the  Arkansas  River,  he  took  with  him 
as  guides  a  band  of  captives,  fifty-two  Osage  Ind- 
ians. He  had  found  these  unfortunates  languish- 
ing in  the  camps  of  the  Pottowattomics,  many 
hundreds  of  miles  from  their  native  plains.  Tra- 
dition has  not  disclosed  what  part  our  Pokagon 
played  in  bringing  these  poor  creatures  to  his 
northern  home.  But  we  do  not  doubt  that  his 
enemies  had  full  cause  to  think  him  brave. 

The  encampments  of  the  Osage  tribe  were  at 
that  time  near  the  head-waters  of  the  Neosho,  a 
country  now  included  in  the  State  of  Kansas. 
Through  the  confines  of  their  territory  meandered 


228  Tales  of  Kankakee  Land 

a  well-known  path  which  was  the  forerunner  of  the 
great  Santa  Fe  trail,  the  famous  highway  connect- 
ing Santa  Fe  with  the  old  French  and  Spanish  city 
of  St.  Louis.  An  occasional  troop  of  soldiers  rode 
over  this  trail,  and  often  one  might  see  the  caravans 
of  Spanish  merchants  and  petty  traders  coming 
and  going.  Sometimes  a  band  of  Comanche  horse- 
men turned  into  this  well-beaten  roadway  and  fol- 
lowed its  course  for  a  time,  or  a  group  of  Pawnees 
concealed  themselves  behind  the  low  hills  that  in 
some  places  skirt  the  path.  And  here,  too,  we  may 
not  doubt  that  our  Pottowattomies  were  sometimes 
in  hiding,  when  the  Osages  came  down  the  path  to 
traffic  with  any  passing  caravan  of  traders.  In 
such  a  place  Pokagon  and  his  warriors  could  lie 
in  wait  until  they  should  find  and  overcome  the 
foe.  A  remarkable  panorama  was  that  which 
the  life  of  the  trail  supplied  for  these  red  men 
from  the  far  East.  But  of  all  the  sights  he  saw, 
the  one  which  most  profoundly  moved  the  chief 
Pokagon  was  the  old  Mexican  wagon  with  its 
limitless  capacity  for  goods  and  chattels,  its  pon- 
derous wheels,  each  wrought  from  a  solid  piece 
of  timber,  and  its  draught-animals,  which  were 
sometimes  half-wild  oxen  and  sometimes  a  yoke 
of  steers  with  horses  and  mules  as  co-laborers. 


The  Story  of  the  First  IVagon         229 

And,  indeed,  that  venerable  type  of  a  wagon 
might  well  excite  the  attention  of  the  red  man. 
The  Spaniards  brought  the  device  into  Mexico 
from  Spain.  They  themselves  had  received  it 
from  the  Moors.  It  had  come  down  to  the  latter 
by  natural  inheritance  from  the  tribes  of  north 
Africa  which  from  the  earliest  times  have  hung 
on  the  borders  of  the  civilization  of  the  Nile.  In 
such  a  wagon  as  this  Joseph  brought  his  father  up 
out  of  the  land  of  Egypt.  Such  a  wagon  as  this 
bore  all  the  burdens  of  the  Oriental  world  in  all  the 
ages  of  the  past.  Even  the  Greeks  and  the  Romans 
had  not  sufficient  inventive  skill  to  escape  from 
this  device,  for  even  their  war-chariots  were  scarcely 
a  departure  from  these  lines.  And  so,  at  length, 
this  old  pattern  of  the  wagon  of  ancient  Egypt 
had  come  round  to  the  other  side  of  the  world 
and  now  had  fixed  the  wondering  attention  of  an 
American  Indian.  As  the  chief  Pokagon  fled 
homeward  along  the  old  war-path,  many  thoughts 
filled  his  fancy,  thoughts  that  in  no  way  pertained 
to  the  victory  won  or  the  Osage  captives  that 
followed  in  his  train.  He  would  emulate  the 
white  man.  He  would  know  the  white  man's 
art.     He  would  build  a  wagon! 

Well  remembered  is  the  day  when  the  farmer- 


230  Tales  of  Kankakee  Land 

boys  drew  out  of  the  spongy  earth  around  one  of 
the  springs  at  Pokagon  Town  the  last  surviving 
remnants  of  the  chief's  famous  wagon,  the  broken 
parts  of  the  huge  wheels.  It  was  a  most  fortunate 
recovery  of  a  glorious  relic  of  the  past.  When  the 
mud  and  grime  of  three-quarters  of  a  century  had 
been  washed  away,  here  and  there  a  spot  of  red 
paint  showed  itself  to  tell  of  the  glory  in  which 
this  wilderness  chariot  once  flamed  forth  on  the 
old  Sauk  trail,  announcing  to  the  solemn  forest 
and  the  sunny  prairie  that  the  influence  of  the 
Pharaohs  had  come  at  last  even  to  the  far-away 
region  of  the  Great  Lakes.  These  fragments  of 
the  broken  wheels  seemed  to  teach  their  lesson 
plainly;  for  were  they  not  the  visible  testimony 
of  the  Indian's  struggle  with  the  white  man's  art? 
Though  the  day  was  far  spent,  we  still  lingered 
in  the  precincts  of  this  deserted  village,  unwilling 
to  quit  the  scenes  that  could  so  forcibly  testify 
to  the  character  of  the  red  man,  could  testify  how 
he  sometimes  comprehended  the  plain,  though 
doubtless  unwelcome,  fact  that  "his  feet  must  tread 
the  white  man's  path,"  if  he  would  prevail  in  the 
modern  world.  We  were  turning  over  these 
thoughts,  while  gazing  into  the  bowl  of  one  of  the 
springs  that  bubble  now  for  us,  as  they  have  done 


The  Story  of  the  First   Wagon       231 

for  them  of  yore  through  ages  past,  when  a  soft 
booming  sound  arrested  our  attention  and  called 
us  back  to  the  affairs  of  the  living  moment.  It 
was  the  far-off  blast  of  the  steam-whistle  at  one 
of  the  great  wagon  factories  whose  product  has 
made  the  valley  of  the  St.  Joseph  famous  in  many 
lands.  The  breath  of  steam  on  the  whistle's  lip 
of  bronze  proclaimed  that  labor's  day  was  done. 
The  miles  of  atmosphere  that  lay  between  this 
quiet  vale  and  that  world  of  the  forge  and  the 
hammer  had  softened  the  tones  of  the  powerful 
voice,  until  one  might  have  mistaken  it  for  the 
moan  of  an  Osage  captive  or  the  ghost  of  the  old 
warcry,  as  some  spirit-band  once  more  hurried 
down  the  ancient  trail. 

But  no,  the  voice  came  not  from  the  dead  past ; 
it  swelled  from  the  bosom  of  the  living,  triumphant, 
exulting  present.  And  it,  too,  told  the  story  of 
the  wagon — that  burden-bearer  for  all  the  world, 
the  American  wagon — clothed  in  all  that  perfection 
by  which  American  industry  and  American  genius 
are  now  prevailing  so  mightily  in  the  markets  of 
civilized  lands.  It  would  seem  that  no  one  could 
listen  to  this  voice  and  then  turn  his  eyes  upon 
these  relics  of  the  ancient  wheelwright's  labor 
without  finding  a  peculiar  fitness  in  the  choice 


232  Tales  of  Kankakee  Land 

of  this  locality  for  the  scene  of  the  primitive  wagon 
maker's  triumph.  Nature  had  marked  the  spot. 
At  the  beginning  the  wagon-maker's  spirit  was  in 
the  air,  so  that  even  the  Indian  felt  its  influence 
and  deserted  the  war-path  for  the  nobler  fame 
of  building  the  first  wagon. 


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